#and they expect me to accept a full time job which will only cover my rent and barely even food???

[possessed-nia]

if smoking is so bad an some higher up people put spooky pictures to scare away people from smoking how about you pay people enough for them to live and not survive? and have realistic standards recruiting people especially students! because i'm thinking to pick up smoking if it will fucking make it bearable living for at least a moment

[vivzzi]

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

synopsis: the day guard and night guard communicating through notes.

your shift starts the same way as every other day. you start by checking the pizzeria to make sure no intruders came in then you start cleaning the office. normally it’s full of empty fast food wrappers and cigarette ashes but this time you find a small bottle of sleeping pills with the owners name on the side of the bottle. mike schmidt. you remember vanessa telling you about the new night guard so you assume it’s his. grabbing a sticky note and pen you write a small note.

try and remember to take your pills home with you next time mike :)

- the day guard

you stick the note on the top of the pill bottle before sitting down and checking the cameras and taking small naps every now and then till the end of your shift. once the clock hits 11pm you grab your belongings before making your way out. while walking to the bus stop the sounds of your shoes hitting the ground with each step being the only noticeable sound throughout the empty street you start thinking about what the new night guard could be like. probably lazy since he brings his pills to work with him.

-

everyday starts the same. doing the same tasks around the pizzeria and checking on the animatronics every couple days. you walk into the office setting your bag on the ground taking your headphones off when you see a note attached to the security monitor.

Thanks for keeping my pills safe and not throwing them away. maybe you could tell me your name as well? i wish there was another way i could thank you.

- Mike

a small smile appears across your face before you take out another sticky note writing a small note for him.

it’s y/n and you keeping the office clean is the best thank you gift lol

- y/n

you place the note next to his old one before continuing with your job.

-

when you got to work the next day you didn’t bother with your daily tasks instead you were focused on reading the new note mike has left behind for you. instantly walking through the hallway and straight into the office your eyes see a tiny fort set up in the office which looks like it could fit a small child in before looking over at the desk and seeing another note.

Sorry about the fort my sister came to work with me since i didn’t have a babysitter available last night :/ i promise to clean it up once i come back later. please accept this drink as an apology gift

- Mike

you see a can of coke next to the note and you smile while picking it up. a small gesture which you appreciated.

no worries about the fort it’s kinda cute but thanks for the drink :)) please accept this i think you need it more than me

-y/n

you walk towards your bag and pull out a can of redbull before placing it next to the note feeling proud of yourself. after that you start doing your tasks with mike being the only thing occupying your mind.

-

your routine has completely changed instead of doing what you used to do now all you do is leave notes and small gifts for mike as he does the same for you. this time you brought a gift for his younger sister who’s name that you learnt is abby. you place the gift in her fort. a small stuffed bunny before going over to see mikes new note.

This note thing can’t go on forever i may have to clock in early one night so we can talk in person. Abby would also love to meet you.

- Mike

the note was placed on a small bar of chocolate. mike has already shared his past with jobs and how he ended working here so you never really expected any type of expensive gift from him and to be honest you loved all the things he has given you so far.

-

the next day was different. the second you walked into the pizzeria you were greeted with broken glass everywhere, ripped posters and prizes all over the ground. you sat down in the main dining hall covering your face out of stress you couldn’t help but to feel guilty as if the place getting broken into was your fault. suddenly your thoughts were interrupted by a person running into the pizzeria.

“y/n?”

the person runs up to you before pulling you into a tight hug whispering soft words of reassurance into your ear.

“vanessa told me what happened don’t worry about it- are you hurt?”

“mike?”

you finally look up at him as he gives you a small smile and hums to show you that he’s really there before you hug him back.

“i’m so glad you’re here”

“i cant believe this is how we meet”

he makes a quick joke to lighten the mood and it works as you let out a small laugh shaking your head. the rest of the day was spent cleaning up the mess with music playing in the background while you and mike connected over anything you had in common.

leaving him that note was the best decision ever.

-

bonus:

you walk out of mike’s car and to his front door with him as he opens it. you see vanessa sleeping on the couch after babysitting abby. you ended up staying at the pizzeria with mike for his shift that same day which made him invite you over to meet abby.

as mike shuts the door you can hear footsteps approaching you guys. abby runs up to mike giving him a hug before turning to you slightly confused.

“abby this is y/n”

her confused expression slowly turns into an excited one as she runs up to you giving your figure a tight hug.

“thank you so much for the stuffed bunny i still have it. do you want to come and see my stuffed animal collection in my room?”

before you could answer her she drags you down the hallway and towards her room. you turn around giving mike a smile while following abby.

“already bringing her home mike? that was fast”

mike slightly jumps due to vanessa’s voice before rolling his eyes.

a/n: might turn this into a mini series because i wanna expand their relationship but im still thinking about it and i lowkey hate this 😭😭

[lesbianpepsi]

'Cause I'm a jealous, jealous, jealous girl

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!reader

Summary: A visit to the doctors was only supposed to bring good health, not jealousy.

Warnings: dislocated ankle, tripping, swearing, jealous tara...?, bad writing, not proof-read

Words: 6.634k (ik.)

A/N: i fucking suck at summary's. but on a happier note i've finished all my exams, yay. my enthusiasm can clearly be detected. my first shift at a new job is tomorrow and i am shitting dicks from nerves, it's at a icecream shop but that doesn't make me less nervous rvkjnoxnoa. anyway, hope you enjoy this!!<33

part II

“It cannot be topped. The Babadook is top tier and nothing will change my mind.” 

You rolled your eyes as you turned your head to look at Tara, raising your eyebrows slightly. “You’re such a snob when it comes to horror it’s unreal.” Tara gave you a fake hurt look at your comment, you could tell she’s faking it since the girl has a small smile on her pink lips.

“How am I a snob just because I enjoy horror movies that aren’t teens getting killed at a camp that has some cheesy name like ‘Camp Cover.’” 

“Don’t you dare disrespect Friday the Thirteenth or Sleepaway Camp like that!”

Throughout your and Tara’s walk around Central Park the topic of horror movies has been one the two of you debating on. You taking the side of defending slashers meanwhile Tara taking the side that elevated horror is much better. 

Did you expect your peaceful walk with your crush best friend would turn into a horror movie debate? No, but it didn’t surprise you either. In fact horror is what made you and Tara even become friends.

You had been at a party and after a while it had died down and you ended up with a group of people sitting in the living room putting on a horror movie. After a few arguments on what to put on everyone decided to simply put on the latest Halloween movie, Halloween Ends. 

You weren’t particularly enjoying the film much and ended up chatting with a girl named Anika while the movie played. At the halfway mark of the movie a poor drunken soul asked a question that ended up turning into a full on debate in the group. 

“Who would win in a fight, Micheal or Jason?”

Almost immediately after the person uttered those words people started voicing their opinions.

“Micheal obviously, he’s been in the game longer than Jason.” 

“Micheal. Literally nothing kills him meanwhile Jason has been killed a shit ton of times.” 

“Jason is a mommy’s boy who didn’t even show up till the second movie. Definitely Micheal.” 

You were alarmed with the amount of comments made slamming Jason, so naturally you went to defend him. Your strongest argument was the fact Jason was factually stronger than Micheal, something everyone had to accept. 

“Sure Micheal did crush someone's skull with his boot in the twenty eighteen Halloween, but in Jason Takes Manhattan Jason literally punched a guy's head off. Jason would destroy Micheal.” 

You knew you were on the right side since even horror nerd Mindy agreed with you before going on a much longer speech. 

Not long after Mindy had finished her speech most had either gotten bored and left or decided to head home anyway. but a small group of you still stayed to finish the movie, one of those people being Tara. 

“I bet Mindy’s glad somebody else agreed with her.” Was the first words Tara ever said to you. To which you replied with. “I’m just surprised how many people underestimate Jason.” 

And the rest is history.

You became closer with Tara and all of her friends and after a few months even snagged the ‘best friend’ title, but it only took you a few weeks for Tara to snag the ‘crush’ title for you, something you’d take to the grave. 

On this particular sunny day Tara has begged you to join her for a walk, in the beginning you declined since it’s boiling and would’ve much preferred to stay inside in your room reading. Unfortunately for you, you and Tara both know you can’t say no to her. 

That’s how you and Tara ended up walking around Central Park talking about random things until the topic of horror movies came up.

Tara rolled her eyes as she shook her head in amusement, staring up at you as the two of you walked. “Alright then, what’s your top three horror movies then?” She questioned with a raised eyebrow, her smile turning into a playful one.

“Easy. You’re Next, My Bloody Valentine and,” You pursed your lips as you tried to think of your third favourite names such as Bride of Chucky, Ready or Not, Stab, Evil Dead, Halloween, Friday the Thirteenth swirled in your mind until one particular movie landed in your mind. 

“Hush.” You finally added with a confident smile, taking a few extra steps in front of Tara as you turned your entire body to face her, walking backwards. “You’re Next has one of the best female leads who fights fucking back and even kills the douchebag brother with a blender. Iconic. My Bloody Valentine is easily one of the best horror movies that came out in the eighties, tied with Sleepaway Camp and The Thing. For the eighties the gore is insanely well done and its plot and acting is just spectacular.” 

You took a second to catch your breath before you began to talk about your final favourite horror movie. 

“Hush is one of the most underrated horror movies in history, don’t even try to change my opinion on that.” Tara lets out a small giggle that makes your heart skip a beat at the angelic sound. “Its plot is downright scary and the acting by Kate Siegel is truly out of this world for this role of Maddie. An intense movie that in my opinion was one of the best one of that year.” 

As you carried on talking the more engorged you got into the topic meaning you simply got even more excited like a puppy getting a treat. Your smile at its best as you walked with a slight bounce, your eyes focused on Tara’s dark chocolate brown ones. 

“Honourable mentions are definitely the classics such as Halloween, Stab, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the Thirteenth and Nightmare on Elm Street. Without a doubt each movie holds one of the most infamous horror villains ever made. Micheal Myers, Ghostface, Leatherface, Jason Voorhees and Freddy Kruger. Even if you don’t like horror you still would know those names.” 

Just as you finished your sentence you went to turn back around to actually look where you’re walking, you spun around quickly as you tried taking a step forward. Apparently your pain couldn’t handle the simple task which inevitably ended up with you falling to the ground, landing on your ankle funny. 

You groaned as you could feel the harsh pain in your left ankle already, looking down at your legs before you turned to look for Tara who is crouched next to you already, a worried look on her face.

“Are you alright?” She asked in a rushed tone as she looked you up and down, a small frown tugging at her lips. The small crease between her brows told you she’s worried, one hand behind your neck and the other on your side confirming that thought. 

You give a stiff nod as you push yourself up with your arms, biting at your bottom lip to not let out a strangled yell at the pain radiating from your ankle at the movement. “Peachy.” You mumbled through clenched teeth as you give her a non-convincing smile. 

The brunette gives you a ‘are you being serious’ look as she swiftly moves one of her hands to grab yours, the feeling of her hand in yours erupting butterflies to go off in your stomach.

Not the time to have a gay panic, you mentally yell at yourself.

“It’s just a scrape, Tar.” You reassured as you manoeuvred your right leg to try to stand up, Tara swiftly stood up herself as her grip on your hand only tightened. The second you moved your left foot the pain increased, you bit at your bottom lip roughly to stop yourself from screaming. 

Deciding to simply fight through the pain you placed your right foot flatly on the ground, ready to stand up. You look at Tara who looked down at you with an even more worried expression than before.

 “Help me up?” You asked which she did, she began pulling you up slowly until you had to place your left foot flat on the ground to stand up, deciding to bite the bullet your roughly moved your foot to place it flat. 

The second you felt your left foot make contact with the ground you stood up quickly, tears swelling up in your eyes at the immense pain radiating from your ankle.

“Y/n I don’t think it’s just a scrape.” The worried Tara announced as she took a step closer to you and placed a hand on your shoulder comfortingly.

You smiled softly at her as you shook your head ‘no’. “Alright then a bruise, which is still manageable.” Tara gave you a pointed look as she gazed into your eyes, her soft dark brown eyes making your knees feel weak. 

“I don’t believe you.” She states.

“I’m fine. I swear, T.” You replied as you squeezed her hand in reassurances, trying to ignore the horrible pain in your ankle. You didn’t want to worry the girl even further.

The smaller girl insists on a silent staring content as she challenges you, if you back down that means she’s right and you’re wrong, if she backs down that means she’ll drop it for now. Your gaze never breaks as your eyes bore into hers, an eyebrow raised challengingly. 

Tara shows no sign of backing down either with her own brows raised as she stares at you, her lips pulled into a straight tight line. The deadpan glare really reminding you of Sam.

The pain from the ankle radiated higher up the leg with much more fierce pain which forced you to hold back a whimper at the pain, at the feeling of pain you relent and back down from the contest, breaking eye contact first.

“Fine, you win.” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest like a child losing a game. Tara’s grins smugly as she sticks out her tongue to get all the glory possibly at the small win. “I knew I’d win.” Tara says her tone dripping with smugness, oh the things you’d do to wipe that grin off her face.

Luckily you didn’t have to do anything since Tara’s eyes suddenly widened as if she just remembered why she was competing in the first place. “Shit your leg.” She mumbles mostly to herself as the worried look replaces the one of victory. 

The brunette glances around the park and notices a bench not too far away from you two. You watch as she mutely nodded her head to herself as she planned a plan in her mind, her head turning back towards you a few moments later. 

“I’m gonna carry you to the bench and then I’ll check your ankle.” Tara explained as she took a few short steps closer until she’s invading your personal space. You give the Carpenter girl an amused smile. “Okay then Doctor Carpenter how are you planning to carry me over when I’m literally taller than you.” 

“I could carry you if I wanted to.” She remarks as an offended look appears on her face, her own arms folding over her stomach. You rolled your eyes as you let out a huff, without much more explanation you wrapped an arm around Tara’s shoulder, pulling her in. 

Ignoring the sudden warmth you feel in your cheeks you raise your left foot off the ground, using Tara to lean on. “C’mon,” You mumble as you begin to hop forward with your right foot. Tara immediately complies and begins walking with you, her own arm tightly wrapped around your waist, her free hand raised to hold your hand which dangled off her shoulder, something that most definitely didn’t help the blush on your cheeks.

Damn your gayness. 

After a handful of grunts, a few stops and a thousand “Are you okay?” from Tara the two of you reached the bench, Tara making sure to lower you down slowly. 

Sitting down you could feel the throbbing pain in your ankle as if it had another heartbeat there. Clenching your jaw you look at Tara who is kneeling in front of you, one hand on your calf and the other near your left foot.

“I’m going to take off your shoe okay, I promise I’ll try my best not to hurt you.” Tara affirmed softly as her eyes gazed up into yours not trusting your voice you gave her a curt nod signalling her to go ahead. 

As she untied your shoe laces you began to loathe your past self for deciding to wear converses. Every small movement she did the pain only intensified making you flinch or let out a pained moan. 

“Sorry,” Tara apologised as she began to take off the shoe. The throbbing pain in your ankle only got worse, you raised your hand and bit at your knuckle harshly as Tara kept apologising as she took the shoe off. 

The second your foot was without a shoe you could feel a slight relief but the pain didn’t change much. “Jesus Christ.” Tara gasped as her delicate fingers gently wrapped around your calf. You let out a humourless chuckle as you looked down at Tara and your swollen ankle. Your ankle had already began to swollen as a nasty dark purple began tainting the skin around it, you grimaced at the sight of your fucked up ankle.

“Maybe it isn’t that bad?” 

_________

“-severely dislocated ankle.” 

So it was as bad as it looked.

You sighed as you glanced over at Tara who is standing next to you paying much more to what the nurse said than you. Her worried look hadn’t slipped away for a second ever since Sam dropped you two off at the hospital, in fact you’d say it’s probably even gotten worse.

The older Carpenter sister couldn’t come in with you two since she had a shift at the bar she worked at.

“You’ll be given crutches to help you keep weight off the ankle as well as an ankle brace that you’ll have to wear for a few weeks. Medication will also need to be taken three times a day with each meal.” The nurse listed off in the most montoned voice you’d ever hear, seriously, it competes with Arnold Schwarzenegger in the Terminator. 

You nod your head weakly as Tara nods her head curtly, an appreciative smile forming on her lips. “I’ll make sure she takes them, thank you.” 

The nurse mumbles something under her lips before turning to glare at you, her blue dull eyes void of any emotion. “The doctor will be here in a minute to give you some painkillers to ease the pain.” 

“Okay, thanks.” You replied with a small smile, the old nurse glare got even colder before she abruptly turned her back and walked away. You sigh dramatically as you lean your head even further on the thin hospital pillows, looking over at Tara who’s already right by your side. 

“I can’t believe you got so excited over horror movies you sprained your ankle, that is more nerdy than Mindy.” She teased in a playful tone as she slightly leaned on the side railings of the bed, her eyes focused on your face. You could tell she’s trying her best to try to find humour in the situation rather than turning into a worried mess.

You let out a laugh of disbelief at that smirk toying at your lips. “I could’ve cosplayed as Jason and broken my arm over getting so excited and that still wouldn’t be enough to beat Mindy.” You retort in the same playful tone as you pushed yourself further up on the bed, flinching at the pain radiating from your ankle at the movement.

“Once you’ve gotten your painkillers we can leave, we’ll just stop by my apartment so I can get a few things then go to yours.” Tara declared as her hand moved to lay on top of yours, her warm hand warming up your cold one. 

You tilted your head to the side like a confused puppy at her words. “What do you need from your apartment?” You asked, flipping your hand over so you could lace your fingers with Tara’s. 

Tara’s eyes averted from yours and flickered down to your linked hands, the tip of her ears turning red at the contact, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope at her reaction. The brunette stared at your hands for a few moments as if she had completely forgotten you asked her a question.

You smirked as you gave her hand a squeeze making her eyes snap back to yours straightaway with an embarrassed smile on her face as she let out a dry cough. “What?” She stuttered out.

“What do you need from your apartment?” You repeated for her sake, the smirk never leaving your lips. “To get some spare clothes, charger, headphones and my spare inhaler.” 

“I already have a spare inhaler at my apartment.” You say right after she mentioned the spare inhaler. Tara’s eyes softened even more at that, her nervous smile turning back into that sweet smile that made your heart beat increase. 

Something you became incredibly aware of as the monitor to your heart started becoming louder and more frequent. 

“Really?” She asks as her eyes flicker over to the monitor before coming back to you. You nodded your head. “Yeah just in case of an emergency or you’d forgotten yours at home.” You answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Before Tara could reply, heavy footsteps are heard walking towards the two of you, both of you snapped your head towards the noise and that’s where you see the second most gorgeous human being on earth. 

(Tara obviously being first)

The doctor had long black hair that reached a few inches below her shoulders, her eyes a dark brown colour that almost looked black. The woman looks around thirty years old, one or two barely noticeable wrinkles on her face. With or without she had your gay heart speeding at the sight of her. 

She strutted closer to the two of you with a warm smile on her lips with a clipboard in the clutches of her right hand. “Y/n L/n?” The doctor asked in a raspy voice that told you she’s most definitely smoked a handful of times in her life, the thought somehow made the woman even hotter to you.

“Yes.” You stuttered out, starstruck at the pure beauty of this woman. She flashed a grin as she started to prepare the IV for you. “I’m Doctor Edwards and I’m going to give you some painkillers to ease the pain, is that okay with you?” She confirmed which you could only dumbly nod at.

The older woman let out a low laugh at your reaction which made heat rise to your cheeks at the sound. Jesus who knew older women had such an effect on you? 

A tight grip on your hand made you let out a low whine as you turned to look to your side to see a not so happy looking Tara Carpenter. Her smile had completely vanished and her soft looking lips pulled into a tight line. 

“You okay?” You whispered to Tara bringing her glaring eyes away from the doctor and to look at you. She replied in a curt nod as her features slightly softened at the sight of you. 

Before you could reply you felt a cold hand graze across your elbow, firm fingers taking a tight yet somehow soft grip on it. You turned to look back at the Doctor Edwards who is now closer as she prepared to insert the needle attached to the IV full of fentanyl in you.

“This might feel a bit uncomfortable honey.” She told you as her eyes glanced towards yours, your heart monitor frantically picking up at the fact this practical milf just called you ‘honey’. The dark haired woman smiled reassuringly at you as she positioned the needle at the top of your forearm. “It’ll be over before you know it.” 

“Okay, thank you.” You croaked out as the grip in your and Tara’s interlocked hands got even tighter. This time you squeezed back as you felt the needle start to stab into your skin, you’d never been a fan of needles. 

“You’re doing so good for me honey.” Doctor Edwards encouraged in a honey sweet voice that would attract bees.

God is she trying to kill me, you thought to yourself. 

After a few seconds you could feel something flow into your body which made you grimace at the feeling before you eventually relaxed as the pain instantly started to calm down in your ankle. 

“All done.” You turned back to look at the doctor who took a step back moving to grab her clipboard and scribbled a few things down on the paper. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to see how you are and then you’ll be good to go.” 

“Thank you so much.” You replied as you gave her a smile, the painkillers coursing through your veins soothing you. She looked at Tara and gave the grumpy looking girl a smile before she took off to deal with other patients. 

You sighed in relief.

“So unprofessional.” Tara mumbled next to you in a low voice. 

Your brows furrowed together as you turned to look at her, that annoyed look still on her face. “How was she unprofessional? She was lovely and gave me sweet drugs to ease the pain, what’s not to love about her?” You defend as you look at her. 

Tara scoffed as she dropped your grip and crossed her arms over her chest like an angry toddler being told ‘no’. “She was flirting with you. She’s the doctor and you’re the patient, that’s beyond unprofessional.” Tara argued back, dropping to sit down on the small one person blue chair next to your hospital bed. 

You could already begin to feel the effects of the painkillers, must’ve been a high dosage, you thought. You cocked your head to the side as a teasing smile complimented on your lips. “If she was then I might ask for her number before we leave.” 

“No!” Tara said a bit too loudly making you let out a giggle. Damn, how strong was the dosage? 

“Why not? She’s the first woman in months to actually flirt with me.” You retorted as Tara’s stare hardened as her eyes glazed over to the doctor a few beds down talking to another patient in a leg cast. 

Tara looked back over at you as she tried to think of a suitable reason why you should reject the apparent flirting doctor. You smirked as the silence filled up between Tara and you telling you that Tara didn’t have a solid reason for you to not ask the doctor out. 

Your eyes slowly averted to the older woman who had a soothing smile on her lips as she talked to her patient, you could tell she actually cared for the people rather than just taking the job for money. 

“I just don’t think you’d be a great match that’s all.” Tara’s voice piped up resulting in your eyes glancing back over to the sour looking girl. The strong painkillers already having an effect on you, boosting your confidence and lowering your care as a teasing smile emerges on your face.

“You didn’t even speak to her, how could you tell she isn’t good enough for me?” You pressed, wanting to get a bigger reaction from her. You’re no Emily Prentiss at reading people but even you suspect that Tara Carpenter seemed a little bit jealous. 

The thought egged you on to try to get the green eyed monster to erupt in hopes of the girl maybe actually doing something rather than sit there seething with jealousy. 

Tara shrugged her shoulders as she bit the inside of her cheek, a bad habit you’ve noticed she keeps doing when she’s either annoyed or stressed. She doesn’t give you a verbal answer as her eyes refuse to make contact with yours. 

“Alright then,” You begin as your eyes gaze into Tara’s side profile, she glaring at the innocent wall rather than looking at you. “If she isn’t a good match for me, who would be then?”

“Anyone else.” Tara replied swiftly as her eyes maintained on the wall. 

You nodded your head weakly to yourself, the teasing smirk still on your lips. “Anyone else?” You repeat her words as she hummed in agreement. “So do you think Quinn would be a good match for me then? Quinn has great humour, she’s a part of the friend group so you can trust her and she definitely knows how to please someone in bed.”  

Tara still refused to look at you as she spat out her answer. “Quinn is a heartbreaker and prefers to have flings rather than stay in a relationship.” 

“No Doctor Edwards and no Quinn, how about Sam then.” Tara’s head snapped to glare at you in such a fast movement it looked like she could get whiplash from it. She shook her head curtly. “No.” Is all she says in a low voice. 

You let out a laugh as mischievousness swirled in your eyes as they locked with Tara’s dark brown ones. You bit at your lower lip for a second before speaking. 

“Well who then? You?” 

The annoyed glare on Tara’s face dropped as a stunned one supplanted it. Her eyes widened as her once tightly pulled together lips now relaxed, her dark chocolate eyes melting as they didn’t tear away from yours. A scarlet red hue of a blush accompanied her cheeks the longer you gazed into each other's eyes.

A lazy smile complimented your lips as you raised your eyebrows at the girl, silently asking her ‘Well?’. Tara stayed quiet. She didn’t nod her head, she didn’t shake her head either. All she did was gaze at you and your lazy grin.

Her mouth opened but no words were uttered, she looked like she’s mimicking a fish. Tara shut her mouth back closed and stayed like that for a few moments before she opened her mouth again, more prepared to say something this time.

“Are the painkillers working, Y/n?” Doctor Edwards interrupted as she appeared from thin air, standing next to Tara whose glare instantly focused on the doctor. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at Tara’s pissed off look as you turned to look at the older woman. 

You smile loosely as you give an awkward thumbs up to her. “Superb, doc, now I understand why people like them so much.” She chuckled as she nodded her head stepping closer as she pulled the IV needle from your forearm, a small dot of blood appearing at where the needle once was. 

You stared in awe as she moved to grab a cotton ball from her trey of medicine on the other side of the bed, pressing the ball against the blood before she taped it there with medical tape that made sure it stayed there. 

She smiled kindly at you before she checked your vitals quickly, once done she took a few steps back to get a good view of you. “You’re good to go, Y/n. I’ll write you a prescription for your medicine and get you your crutches and then you can leave.” 

You sighed in relief as you nodded your head giving her a thankful smile. “Thank you, I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”

She shook her head as a raspy laugh escaped the older woman’s lips. “I think that’s a little bit over the top but either way it was my pleasure.” Before you could reply a cough is heard from next to you. 

You turn to look at Tara who is now standing up and much, much closer to you now. A fake sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face as she looks over at the doctor, her hand on your shoulder. 

“Thanks for all your help doc but we should really get back home and make some dinner.”  Tara says in an even more sweet voice that you just know is fake. Your eyes avert back to the doctor who has a smile on her lips as she looks between you and Tara. 

She hums as she takes a singular step back. “Don’t worry honey I know you two just want to get home and get into bed together and sleep after such a stressful day. I’ll be back shortly with the crutches and prescription.” She promises as she turns on her heels and exits the room to do what she just said. 

“Bitch.” Tara grumbled next to you as she glared at the woman walking away. Her fake smile vanished into thin air. You roll your eyes as you carefully push yourself to the edge of your bed, stiffly moving your legs off of the bed. 

“There’s no signal inside the hospital. Do you wanna go outside and call Sam? She’s probably finishing her shift around now since we’ve been here for hours.” You asked her, as you moved your left leg back and forth steadily, sighing at not feeling much pain anymore due to the painkillers. 

“Okay, I’ll be back in a second. Do not leave this bed.” Tara demands with a threatening point of her index finger that simply makes you giggle, raising your hands up with a goofy grin on your face. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Tara stares at you for a few moments before she hurriedly walks out of the room, taking her phone out of her pocket and already trying to call Sam. You didn’t look away at her retreating figure until she was fully out of your view, only then turning your head away. 

“She has to be jealous, there’s no other explanation for her behaviour.” You tell yourself as you observe the seat Tara was sitting in a few minutes ago. 

“Oh she’s practically the green eyed monster honey.” A voice says from behind you. 

You jumped as you snapped your head to look in the direction of the voice to see Doctor Edwards standing there holding crutches and a small slip of paper. You sighed dramatically as you dropped your head.

“How the fuck do you move around so quietly? You’re like a cat.” The woman chuckles as she walks in front of you presenting you the crutches. You smile weakly at her as you take them, quickly putting your arms through the holes and gripping the grey handle. 

Slowly, you push yourself up until you’re fully standing up, your left foot hovering off the ground as you bend your knee. “The older I get the quieter my steps become.” She replies stretching her arms to your sides ready to catch you in case you’d fall.

You smile bashfully at her as you steadied your stance. “Well you don’t look a day over twenty five.” You compliment her, your voice coming out much stronger and confident that you anticipated. 

These painkillers are really having a toll on me.

“I think the drugs are really starting to hit you now, sugar.” She says as if she heard your thoughts, her eyes glanced away from yours to behind you for a second before they smoothly returned to yours. 

The older woman leans closer until her mouth is not too far away from your ear, in a whisper she says. “Tell her the truth.” You quickly put the pieces together and guess what she’s talking about. “What if she doesn’t like me back?” You questioned worriedly in a whisper.

She lets out a low chuckle as she pulls away looking behind you once again but for longer this time. “I know the look of love as well as I know the look of jealousy, dear.” You turn to look at what the older woman is already glancing at; not surprisingly you see a proper pissed off looking Tara near the doorway. 

You smile happily at Tara as you retrieve the prescription from the doctor’s hand, gripping it in your non-dominant hand. Glancing back at the woman she steps aside gifting you a soft smile. You wordlessly nod at her before wobbling over to Tara, grunting at every hop you took with the crutches. 

Tara snaps out of glaring and briskly makes her way over to help you, that gorgeous smile not showing on her face. 

“Sam will be here any minute.” Tara confirmed as she took the slip of paper from your clutches to give you more of an advantage. You mutely nod your head at her words.

__________

By the time you and Tara left the hospital, having to take one too many stops since you were struggling with the uncomfortable clutches as you felt more and more tired with every passing moment, Sam is already there in her car. 

The car ride to the Carpenter’s apartment was filled with low music from the radio and no small talk being made. You sat in the back with your crutches while Tara and Sam were in the front. You took that time to check your socials and ramble to Mindy about your massive gay panic at the hospital. 

Before you know it you’ve stopped at the Carpenter’s household and now just arrived at your apartment complex. Flinging the car door open, you grunt as you lean out of the car putting on the crutches, Tara somehow appears in front of you and guides you to stand up with much less of a struggle. 

You give Sam a wave and a smile as you hop over the driver’s side window where Sam has rolled down the window. “Thanks for the lift, Sammy.” You mumble tiredly to which Sam rolled her eyes at. 

“Don’t call me that.” The older Carpenter sister grumbles in her usual grumpy tone. You grin lazily as you take a small step backwards. “You know you love it.” 

“I don’t. I hate it as much as I hate you.” Sam said as she shifted the gear stick as she started to drive off. “Love you too, Sammy!” You yell as she drives off, giggling like a child when Sam’s hand emerges from the window flipping you off. 

“Let’s get inside.” The tired Tara says from behind you, her hand pressed against your back gently. You turn to look at her letting out another weak chuckle. “Please.” 

Tara smiles softly at you as she begins walking by your side into the apartment complex. Taking the elevator, the two of you staying in silence the entire journey until you both arrive at your apartment, Tara unlocks the door with her spare key and walks in first flicking on the lights as she holds the door open for you. 

You smile appreciatively to Tara as you wobble over to your bedroom, desperate to get to your bed. Tara closes the front door before she follows you into your bedroom, dropping her blue backpack on the floor outside your bedroom before entering. 

“Oh sweet bed how I have missed you.” You murmured against the pillows your face dug deep inside of them, your forgotten crutches thrown on the floor beside your bed. You feel a dip in the bed at the side of your head, you roll over to lay on your back as you look at Tara sitting beside your head. 

“You can’t sleep in those, Y/n, you need to change out of your jeans.” She reminds you in a knowing tone causing you to let out a loud groan, covering your face with your hands. “But I just sat down.” You say in a muffled voice behind your hands. 

Tara laughs sweetly as you feel her weight move off of the bed, her footsteps telling you she’s headed towards your dresser. Peeking through the crack of your hands you see her pull out your favourite pyjamas. 

Is it completely childish? Yes. Do you care? Not at all. 

The brunette pulled out your deadpool pyjamas, the set being your all time favourite piece of sleep clothing. She throws it over at you before heading towards the door, leaning against it as she turns to look at you once again. 

“If you need help just yell my name.” She offers before silently leaving and closing your door quietly. You sighed as you sat up grabbing the clothes that landed on your lap. 

You took your time changing into the pyjamas. Taking off your shirt and bra and replacing them with the red oversized deadpool shirt took a few seconds at most. The real challenge being taking off the thick long grey boot on your leg foot before slowly shuffling out of your jeans and into the sweats. 

Once changed and the brace back on you move to lay back down on your bed, your eyes fighting the urge to shut with every passing second. Right as when you start to feel yourself drift off to sleep a knock is heard at your door. 

“Y/n? You good?” Tara’s muffled voice is heard through the door. 

You smile as you nod your head as if she can see you. “Yeah you can come in if you want.” Tara quickly takes up on that offer and re-enters your room with a small smile on her face as she walks over to you. 

She had also changed into her pyjamas which consisted of an old shirt she stole from you which practically devoured the girl’s figure. You couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her in your clothing. 

“How’re you feeling now?” Tara asks as she sits down near your head once again, you look up at the sitting girl with a smile. 

“You never answered my question.” You tell her, completely ignoring her question. The Carpenter sister faintly cocks her head to the side with confusion clear in her eyes. “If you’d be a good match for me.” You add as you blink slowly at her. 

Tara’s breath hitches. Her eyes averted from yours to look at the doorway. “Do you still feel high from the painkillers?” She questions back. 

You giggle as you nodded your head, raising your hand and hovering your index finger over your thumb. “Just a tiny bit.” Tara scoffed a laugh as she nodded her own head weakly, finally looking back into your eyes with hers. 

“Then you probably won’t remember this in the morning then.” She mumbles mostly to herself with a smile. Tara sighs as she leans down to give a soft kiss to your forehead, your ears burn at the feeling as butterflies erupt in your stomach at the feeling of Tara’s unbelievably soft lips. 

“If you remember that in the morning I’ll tell you.” She whispers against your temple before she pulls away, making you frown. Tara gets up from the bed and retreats back to the door making you even more confused.

As if reading your thoughts Tara leans against the doorway, the light from behind her shining around her figure. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight and don’t even bother trying to make me sleep in your bed since you need the space with the brace.” 

You let out a huff at that, not agreeing with Tara’s words at all. You hear her chuckle as she pushes herself off the doorway. “Goodnight, Y/n.” She says. 

“I’ll remember in the morning.” You say confidently as you lay your head back down on the pillow, your eyes lingering on Tara still in the doorway. “I hope so.” Tara whispers before exiting the room and closing the door shut silently. 

“Me too.” 

_____________________________________

A/N: part 2 anyone?👀

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I asked my girlfriend to get me a replacement mask?

So I and my girlfriend (both adults) are in a long-distance relationship and live on different continents but visit each other for periods of weeks to months at a time. As background context, my girlfriend is notoriously bad with money - she's owed me over $1500 for half a year now after I covered some big expenses for her when she was unable to save in time, though I've told her there's no particular deadline for giving it back and to just do it when she's able, but she's also borrowed money from her parents, she's paying off a credit card debt, and despite having a full-time job she seems completely unable to save anything substantial and is constantly buying things.

We both like a certain musician, and this shared interest in the musician is actually how we met in the first place and bonded. They've dropped some merch in the past, and it always sold out within 5-10 minutes, and they're borderline impossible to get now unless you a) are lucky enough to find another fan who's giving theirs away, which is super rare because of how hard they are to replace, or b) are willing to fork out thousands of dollars for a resold one on some dodgy site somewhere. One of the merch items I got from one of those drops was a facemask, and my girlfriend has a matching one - I can't remember if it was something I bought for her, since I did that with some merch if I got there in time, or one she bought herself. It became a huge comfort item for me - I'm both autistic and have avoidant personality disorder, so I'm almost always in some kind of mask to hide my face, and this one being connected to a special interest as well as comfortable and a perfect size (and goes with all my clothes!) made me super happy. Last time she visited, we joked around about having identical masks but that it was easy to tell which one was hers because it had makeup stains all over the inside.

As she packed to leave, I mentioned that I couldn't find my mask anywhere and asked if she'd picked mine up as well as hers by accident, so she dug through her bags and said she didn't have it, only hers. I was kinda disappointed but I figured it'd turn up sooner or later so I accepted it, and she flew back home.

A few days later, she let me know she'd unpacked and discovered she actually did have both our masks. I asked her to send it back to me, and she said she would.

Fast forward a few months, I'd asked a few more times, and she always said she would soon. Eventually, when I asked one time, she told me she'd lost it. Her mother had tidied her entire room and she no longer had any idea where either of our masks were. I was kind of frustrated so I asked why she couldn't have just sent it over when I initially asked, and she snapped back that she couldn't afford it, which doesn't make much sense to me because she definitely does have enough to send over a flat envelope, which a fabric face mask would easily fit in just like a letter.

It's been a few months since then and I've been looking and looking for any kind of replacement, but all I can find are knock-off versions that are made from different materials or don't look the same. I did see one resold for like $20 ages ago, so it definitely happens, but it's so rare.

WIBTA if I told my girlfriend I'm expecting her to replace the one she lost even if it's putting more financial pressure on her? I feel really dumb for getting so upset about a mask, but it was one of my favourite belongings and it's genuinely upsetting that it was taken and lost.

To get out ahead of any comment saying it, I have full 100% faith that she did not do it intentionally and she didn't sell it or anything like that. She wouldn't have even thought about the possibility of doing that and I absolutely believe it was an accident and she just grabbed both masks or had been holding onto mine for me and forgotten it was in a bag etc.

[physalian]

On self-publishing, and why I did it

Based on the research that I have done, following other indie authors across multiple platforms, I think I've made an approach to this that is a lot less... shall we say, *intense* than people make it out to be? I've seen some YouTube videos acting like picking one route or the other might be the worst mistake of your author career.

I mean, I guess?

Back a few years ago I had a manuscript I was querying around and couldn't find any takers. Couldn't find any publishing houses that were accepting open submissions to pick up my manuscript either. So many of them had clauses in the application verifying that you were submitting to them and only to them and to expect a reply within 8-10 months. Coooool.

I did not have time for that.

—

The manuscript I had was 120k words. Baby’s first novel sitting at 120k words is not attractive to publishing houses. It’s a risk. I was younger and didn’t know much about finding an agent and all that jazz, so I had looked into self-publishing and was staring down an editor bill of about $3k minimum because of my word count. I did not have the money for that.

So that manuscript got shelved, meanwhile I wrote the sequel and got halfway through book 3 before writer’s block took hold.

Enter February 2024. I have an idea for a new book. 31 days later, I have that book’s first draft done—Eternal Night of the Northern Sky, on sale from draft to publication in seven months.

This time, I didn’t consider for one second trying the traditionally published route. ENNS is 111k words, it’s a doorstopper of a book, but the bulk wasn’t the only reason I decided to bootstrap myself to the finish line.

I wanted complete, absolute creative control every step of the way

If I have to market myself anyway, why am I splitting profit with a publishing house?

I *really* don’t have time to wait around hoping the right person sees my manuscript. I have a new job coming that’s going to eat up all my free time and could either delay ENNS a year or more, or get it out while I still had time to do so

I didn’t do this for money

I think that’s what makes so many of those rather intense arguments for one or the other so harrowing—the pressure is a lot higher if you invested all this time, money, and effort expecting returns to break even, if not actually turn a profit. Publishing with a publisher doesn’t guarantee people will buy your book, mind you, but it’s a helping hand nonetheless. If I even want to break even, let's say just on royalties from the ebook, I'd have to sell over a thousand copies.

Breaking down my above points:

I’m a firm believer in “if you want something done right, you do it yourself,” which does bite me in the ass from time to time, this I know. I didn’t want to get caught up in contracts or editors telling me what I could and couldn’t do or what I had to change. If ENNS fails, I will have no one to blame but myself, and I am at peace with this. If ENNS fails, and I’d gone through the trouble of signing my book’s soul away to a publisher, then I’d probably be a little resentful. 100% of ENNS is mine, even the cover. I had an image in my head of what I wanted the cover to look like, and I sat down and I drew it and it matches perfectly. Aside from the feedback implemented from betas and editors, my story is told the way I wanted to tell it. If it fails, I am at peace with this.

On marketing, I am not a person who does well with social media. Maybe it’s autism, idk, but trying to keep up with an Instagram is exhausting. I just don’t get anything from tiny text posts and blurbs and doomscrolling through influencers and advertisements. Social Media is, for me, exhausting. Tumblr is different, because writing is my strong point and this blog exists to share and curate something useful. But either way, I’d have to market this book alone, so why not do so with full creative control? If it fails, I am at peace with this.

I have a new job coming very quickly. My current job allows me about 5 hours of free time during my 8 hour shift on a good day not including the time outside work, and I work from home. ENNS was written in 31 days thanks to this job. The new one? Not so much. Seeing “please allow 8-10 months” and “please ensure this is an exclusive submission” on so many little publishing houses, and I did search far and wide, was incredibly disheartening. For me, personally, it wasn’t worth the gamble of waiting all that time, following the rules, and being told no or just being flat-out ghosted. Nor did I want to sit around querying agents into the void. This time, I didn’t have time to sift through agents. ENNS had to get out on the shelves as quickly as I could get it, and all that time (five goddamn months of editing, 500% of the time it took to write it) was spent perfecting the manuscript that it is, *not* waiting around trying to find an agent. If it fails, I am at peace with this.

And lastly, I don’t care if I make absolutely nothing from this book. I didn’t do it for the money, I did it to say I could. I have a day job, and I’m about to have a much higher paying day job. Maybe I’m lucky enough to have that, but I am under no illusions that putting in the hard work guarantees success. Success as an author is a crapshoot and being an amazing book is not the metric sales are measured in, if no one wants to read it. I’d like to make money, I didn’t do it for charity. It’s going to be priced exactly the same as another fantasy book of its caliber. But if only one person buys it, and finds something good from it, something in it that changes their life, then I will have succeeded, profit be damned. If all else fails, I am at peace with this.

—

This is not a post meant to sway people one way or the other. I know I didn’t do enough research or scour the internet hard enough to find a good agent. All of this is irrelevant when time was the most important factor in my debut novel. I was in a position where I could drop that $3k on an editor, so I did. I’m a capable enough artist to draw my own cover, so I did. I might be abysmal at managing social accounts, but less than a year ago this blog didn’t exist and it has over 5k reblogs and 950 followers and I think that’s pretty swell.

I’m 25 years old. I was not about to let it keep sitting around waiting for the golden opportunity with the perfect publishing house that might not have been coming. I had the means and motive to get it done, and by god, I did it.

If it fails, at least I can say that I failed trying. I am at peace with this.

—

Eternal Night of the Northern Sky is available now on Amazon in ebook and paperback! It is also available through your local bookstore.

Check it out on Goodreads!

[wenevergotusedtoegypt]

Well. I'm back on the job market as of 1 week before what was supposed to be my first day.

This whole experience has just been so freaking weird from start to finish. At first it felt like complete and total hashgacha pratis. I wasn't even seriously looking for anything because it was during the time 5yo didn't have a para yet and I couldn't so much as commit to an interview. And the job title wasn't even something I would normally have clicked on. But I clicked on it solely due the organization it was for and discovered that the job title seemed to have been poorly chosen because the actual work was mostly in my actual area of expertise. And then I applied and they offered me an interview a week from the date of offer. I had absolutely no idea if I could actually commit to that interview because I had no idea when 5yo would have a para, but I did anyway, and his para ended up starting the day before the interview. Besides the job title, the other reason I wouldn't normally have applied for the job was that it wasn't full time, but extremely uncharacteristically, I somehow missed that fact and found out during the interview (mortifying but apparently other applicants were significantly worse all around). And then it was just like, this is so clearly HP, maybe it does make sense to start mornings later (and not need to find a morning sitter, which has proved near-impossible in the past) and have Friday off, technically we can afford this even though the salary cut would be a blow to my ego and it would've been nice to have more money. Fine. I'm doing it.

That was 2.5 months ago. I only had the one interview because it was a very small organization but the whole hiring process was super schlepped out. Over time I started realizing that the two people I'd be working under were regularly not on the same page as each other to an egregious extent. Person A told me that Pesach is the slowest time of year, to the point where I probably wouldn't need to take any formal time off to prep. Person B then told me that actually, most years, that's the busiest time of year. I also was told about 4 different versions of what the position entailed, ranging from it being primarily my area of expertise, to a 50/50 split between my expertise and admin, to 100% admin for the first few months and then transitioning to my expertise, to admin-dominant for at least the next few years.

I really probably should have pulled out sooner - they also didn't offer health insurance and were paying me less than I was worth even considering the reduction of hours - but again, so much of it felt like such obvious hashgacha pratis, I was frustrated but didn't really seriously reconsider accepting despite the downsides and the fact that clearly these people were a bit of a mess.

But the turning point was when I received the contract and realized I'd forgotten to discuss PTO. They were only offering me half the vacation days I had at my old job, a number lower than I'd almost ever seen in other job ads recently, and had a stipulation that no vacation could be used until after 6 months, which I have never seen in my field in 2024. I politely wrote back requesting more vacation days and explaining why I was making this request (to partially balance out the blow that was the reduction in pay from what I'd expected to make and lack of health insurance, which was 80% covered at my old job). I also asked to have the 6-month requirement waived.

Person A wrote back almost immediately saying yes, of course, no problem! We'll send a new contract. But then 3 days later I got what came across as a fairly stern email explaining that actually they could not give me additional PTO, though we could revisit that in a year, and that in fact, they were being extremely generous considering the total number of days off I had per year, which they enumerated.....and apparently, the Fridays that I was not going to be paid to work, which were already accounted for and then some by the lower salary, and which could not be used at will or in a row by definition, were supposed to balance out the lower PTO?? It was really ridiculous logic, but I was still kind of in this zen "this is all so clearly hashgacha pratis" zone, so I wrote back that I could accept the lower number of vacation days for now. They had also said we could have a Zoom meeting to make sure we were all on the same page, which seemed unnecessary to me at that point and I said so, but told them if there was something they felt still needed to be discussed I had availability at X times.

I expected this meeting to be just them reiterating that they can't give me more vacation days but we can revisit it in a year, and me being like yes ok.

That was not what it was.

It was a confrontation, in which they both backed me into the proverbial corner and declared that they were "taken aback" by the "tone" of the email in which I had tried to negotiate more vacation time.

Now. In the past, I have gotten professional feedback that I need to be more flowery with my emails because people who don't know me as well can take my matter-of-fact style as blunt/rude, even when there's nothing objectively rude about what I wrote and people who do know me wouldn't read it that way at all. But. BUT. I wrote and rewrote and edited and reedited the crap out of that email to make it nice. It was literally. just. a normal benefits negotiation email that a normal new hire should be considered perfectly justified in sending. And I graciously accepted their denial. But there I was, being forced to defend a very normal request? Asked in a very normal way?

And it was like they were taking personal offense to the fact that we had gotten to this stage and I wasn't satisfied enough with what was on the table. Person B especially. She zoomed in on specific phrases and demanded that I explain them, like why I'd said I could move forward "for now" with the number of vacation days. Because. You guys. Literally told me we will revisit the issue in a year??? And I was just acknowledging that reality??? Person B asked if I would be satisfied if nothing changed in a year, declaring that there was no way that I would get more vacation days at that point, because Person A is [fancy title] and has been there for 3 years and also only has that many days. Which. One, I notice that she didn't mention that she herself, also with a fancy title, and who has been there significantly longer, only has that many days. HUH. Two, why the f would you (you being Person A though) offer to revisit it in a year if there is no way it's going to change, and get mad at me for the crime of taking you seriously? And three, that sounds like a Person A problem? Because she is the [fancy title] and she could've negotiated more for herself upon hire and she didn't. That doesn't mean I'm not allowed to try.

Anyway, the whole experience was deeply unpleasant, and so out of left field that all I could think to do in the moment was to try to make nice, avoid burning any bridges, and process what the heck just happened afterwards. At the end of the meeting, Person B said, "Ok, the two of us are going to talk and we'll get back to you." I was floored, because what was there even to get back to me about? They wanted me to explain and defend my attempt to negotiate in all its minutiae, I had done so, and it's not like the benefits themselves were up for discussion. I told her I was confused, what were they going to get back to me about, were they reconsidering the offer of employment? Person A jumped in all, "Oh no, of course not, I think we're all good! Everything is good!" but Person B did not elaborate or concur.

I like 75% expected they were going to revoke the offer, and kind of almost hoped that they would so that I wouldn't have to make my own decision about what to make of that absolute narishkeit. But not long afterwards I received an updated offer letter waiving the 6 month requirement and that was it.

At that point I decided that I would give them 2-3 months to see if they could exceed the now very, very low bar of my expectations, and if not, begin job searching in earnest again. But I was absolutely dreading my start date.

And then came yesterday, 1 week before my first day. Now, as background, I had been told that I would normally be expected to work in person twice a week, and only very occasionally 3 days when needed. I had asked them which 2 days I should expect to come in so that I could arrange a babysitter accordingly, and they had told me that I could choose according to my needs, and just let them know. I told them Tuesday and Wednesday. They said ok. They asked whether Monday or Thursday would be preferable for the occasional 3rd day, and I said Thursday. I hired a babysitter whose hours were calculated according to the assumption that I would be commuting on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

So I get this email yesterday morning. Informing me not to come into the office Tuesday and Wednesday next week, but rather only Thursday, with no acknowledgement whatsoever that this was counter to the arrangements we had discussed and no explanation as to why it couldn't be one of my regular days. I know why, though - it's because these 2 people work with each other to arrange which days they want to be in the office each week, and I realized then that I was never going to be part of that discussion, just expected to follow their whims, despite what we had discussed before. They were not seeing me as equally worthy of consideration.

Oh, and the other part. They also informed me that in my 2nd week of work, there was an event on Wednesday starting at 5pm that they expected me to work. This event would be at a location significantly further from where I live than the office is and they apparently didn't consider it relevant to tell me until what time I would be expected to stay just yet (so, like, thanks for the heads up but how am I supposed to make arrangements, exactly?). My husband does not get home til 8:30-9 on Wednesday nights and has no flexibility to leave early, and they theoretically knew this from previous discussions. They also knew that I have little kids. But for some reason, even though I'd had the basic job offer for about 2 months prior to the event, and even though this event had definitely been planned well in advance, they didn't feel a need to let me know that they'd require me to work a weekday evening event specifically on a day of the week that it would be incredibly difficult for me to work in the evening.

Now, in a normal freaking workplace, I would simply bring up these scheduling concerns. What a thought! But these people could not handle standard benefits negotiations because any hint that I wasn't fully satisfied with current arrangements was personally offensive. So. You know.

The entire advantage of accepting a less-than-full-time job was supposed to be that I would have to worry about childcare less. But it was at this point patently obvious that these people would think absolutely nothing of making my schedule completely unpredictable on a regular basis and also would not be remotely open to pushback about it. I couldn't just put my head down and give it 2-3 months and then look for something else because I would constantly be stressing out trying to sort childcare. Which should have been the one single solitary non-problem in this position!

So I let them know that it doesn't seem like this is going to be a good fit and I regretfully have to withdraw my acceptance - I am receiving too much conflicting information about, well, literally everything, and it seems like they need someone who is able to offer a level of flexibility in their schedule that I simply do not have at this stage in my life.

I'm sure they are royally pissed and telling themselves the fairytale that they tried so hard to accommodate me and make me happy and I totally misled them about being satisfied with their offer and then screwed them over at the last minute. That's not what happened - despite everything, I was gung-ho until that unbelievably disturbing meeting - but that's the narrative they'll be bouncing off each other to avoid admitting that they totally botched a good hire.

It's been 27 hours since my "resignation" email and they haven't bothered to reply. Really regretting missing out on a workplace that is such a paragon of professionalism! 🙄🙄🙄

[account-name]

Phone Guy Month 2024

4- Night 4

i tried to write a little something :3 (i haven't written a fic since middle school so idk if this is good but i tried my best)

(this still uses he/him for phone guy since she's still an egg here and i don't want spoilers for if i decide to make this into a larger thing )

He knew he wasn't going to make it. He had been expecting this. He took the night shift knowing full well that he was never getting out of this job alive. Hell, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he had honestly been hoping this day would come.

It's not like he had much of a life waiting for him. He lost everything, and he had no one to blame but himself. All those kids, killed because he didn't want to accept that something was going on. Surely it wasn't what it looked like, right? But it was. And he did nothing to stop it.

And then there was Fritz. Oh god, Fritz. His own son was killed and it was all his fault. He thought it would be fun to bring his kid to work with him. Have some nice bonding time. But he got caught up with work and didn't notice his son being lured to the back room. If he had only paid a little bit more attention, Fritz would still be here.

And now, as he watched the last bit of power drain away, he would soon join him. He didn't exactly deserve to survive anyway. Not with the horrible things he let happen.

Even so, although he knew death was coming, and he knew it was what he deserved, that didn't stop the pit in his stomach as he tried not to think about what was about to happen to him. He didn't want to die. Well, he did, but he was scared. It wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, bleeding out slowly in the back room, completely and utterly alone. What would even happen to him? Was it going to be horribly painful? Would there be anything waiting for him after? Did he even want to know the answer to that question, with all the horrible things he did nothing to prevent? All the things he actively aided in covering up? Surely, if his soul were to move onto something after all this, it wouldn't be anywhere good.

No. He can't think about that right now. He desperately tried to push those thoughts aside. He needed to leave a message for the new guard.

He picked up the receiver and cleared his throat.

"Hello, hello? Hey! Hey, wow, day 4. I knew you could do it."

His voice trembled. He didn't want to think about what was coming. He couldn't.

"Uh, hey, listen. I may not be around to send you a message tomorrow. It's- It's been a bad night here, for me."

He heard an animatronic bang against the doors. There wasn't enough power to hold them in much longer. He swallowed.

"Um, I-I'm glad i recorded my messages for you, uh, when i did."

The animatronics continued to pound against the door. There were multiple now, cornering him in his office.

"Uh, hey, do me a favor. Maybe sometime, uh, you could check inside those suits in the back room? I'm going to try to hold out until someone checks. Maybe it won't be so bad

He was lying to himself. He knew it was going to be bad. But maybe there's a chance it wouldn't be as painful as he was expecting. Maybe it would be quick and painless. He had to find some kind of bright side. That was all he had left he could hope for.

"Uh, I-I-I-I always wondered what was in all those empty heads back there... you know.."

The lights shut off. His power finally ran out. The doors flew open and the animatronics made their way into his office. They were all there, surrounding him on all sides. One of them let out a groan, He couldn't tell which one. He was holding his breath. This was it. He could hear Freddy's music box coming from the doorway. The Toreador March.

The lights in Freddy's eyes flickered on and off to the tune of the music; a feature implemented meant to help children feel safe in the event of a power outage. They could stay entertained and keep close to the animatronics while the adults would work to fix the problem. He never thought anything of it at the time, but it was haunting to see now. The animatronic staring at him lifelessly, his eyes gleaming in the dark.

He felt a plush paw grab him from behind. He turned around to see what looked to be one of the old fredbear suits from the back room. How did it end up in his office? It's head cocked to the side and it let out a horrible low groan.

"Oh no-"

Before he could finish, the five animatronics lunged at him together, as if the attack had been orchestrated. They grabbed at him, yanking him around like a rag doll. He looked up to see Foxy, once his favorite animatronic, slashing his chest and shoulder with his hook. Before he could react to the pain, he felt Chica bite his cord, pulling it violently with her beak. He desperately gasped for air to no avail. Bonnie grabbed his arm and pushed it against the desk, likely breaking it. He couldn't tell at this point. He couldn't breathe. He caught a glimpse of his own blood and resisted the urge to vomit. It was everywhere. There was so much and it was everywhere. Oh god.

He looked up to see the yellow one. Upon second glance, no, it wasn't Fredbear. This was something different. The others loosened their grip on him and there was a moment of silence. Until the yellow bear lunged at him.

And then it all went dark.

That was the last thing he could remember. That, and the pain. The metal crossbeams and wires digging into his skin. His body mangled inside the suit. And he was left there to bleed until his consciousness slipped away.

(i've already posted this drawing but i wanted to stick it here to accompany the fic for funsies )

[cwcthzl]

au. yuri stozier. victorian era. rachel, being the only healthy person in the family, trains herself to appear more manly (going by the name 'richard', working out, cutting her hair, wrapping her chest with bandages, deepening her voice, letting her body hair grow etc.) which wasn't hard that much because she had very masculine features, to be able to make a living since being a woman limits her opportunities to one or two jobs (one of them is marrying a rich man which what her mother encourages) but she's too stubborn and dirty-mouthed of woman to be taken seriously in those times. which she doesn't care about, of course.

years flow by spending her every waking hour to working in the most ridiculous jobs. she reaches the age of 20. she puts on more muscle, she grows taller, and she finds the man style haircut that suits her and covers her 'obvious' feminine features. she applies to being one of the princess' knights, gets challenged by princess anastasia uris' knights with others who also signed up and wins one of the spots regarding protecting the royal.

after a couple of weeks she gets promoted to being princess' personal guardian and when they first get introduced rachel is sweating bullets because why is this woman looking that deep into her eyes. does she know something. bloody hell. she looks like such a bitch. why is her face like that. is she judging her.

the first months are just princess and rachel richard constantly annoying each other. richard has to be more subtle about it, because she he is still employed as her guardian: so he just makes mistakes on purpose or 'forgets' important things, while princess just makes him do ridiculous things, makes him run from one place to another for useless things and so on. richard doesn't like her, and he is %99 sure she doesn't like him either, but king decided him as her guardian after she got into fights with her previous ones, so they both don't have choice.

that's until king sends princess (and richard) to another kingdom to make peace and arrangements for the upcoming years. they load their stuff and bags on their horses with a couple of more knights and a map man and get on the road. richard was expecting princess to arrange a car with a army worth of soldiers for her visit, and he was taken aback by this minimalistic choice, but he had no place to argue.

a storm takes place when time approaches the night, and princess asks the map man where is the nearest building, and it turns out they were really close to an inn so princess tells them to turn their horses to that direction because they were staying that night there, and in the morning they could carry on from there.

they get to the inn, soaked, water dripping down their clothes and hair. princess gives a handful to the hostler to take care of their horses and apologizes for the sudden visit in the middle of the night. richard wonders why she is being so polite when she can do anything she wants. she can light the inn on fire and not get any punishment and there she was apologizing. she was a princess god dammit.

hostler says to not worry and he is up all night anyway. princess thanks him and gestures others to get inside.

they learn the most of the rooms are full so they have to share. princess asks knights and the map man if they're okay with arranging two rooms, which means they will be 3 people per room, and they accept. princess nods and arranges the rooms. richard assumes he will be staying with the knights, which was great, because now he had to sneak off with his clothes and find a private place where he could change his wet bandages and clothes. he makes an attempt to follow them, only for princess to grab his arm and ask where he is going.

"my room?" he frowns.

"you are staying with me." princess spells out like he is some kid. it pisses richard off.

"need me to chase off your nightmares, majesty? can't handle being away from your dear father?" he smirks with sarcasm dripping from his mouth. princess rolls her eyes and tells richard to follow her to their room. richard obliges.

they get to the room. richard waits outside for princess to change her clothes. then princess steps out of the room and tells richard to change too, and richard says there's no need, and that he will change in another place only for princess to cut him off and tell him to just get changed. richard, being exhausted, just makes some snarky comment before accepting defeat. he strips, wraps his chest with clean and dry bandages and slips into his clothes. he is kinda relieved that he didn't have to go hunting for a private locker. he opens the door when gets done and princess gets in without saying another word.

richard tries to make a more comfortable laying area on the floor since princess will be taking the bed, but princess tells him there is no need and he can take the bed.

richard just looks at her like she's crazy. "and why would you do that?"

"i'm gonna go over the papers and arrangements," princess says, getting her ink and papers out of her bag. "it's gonna take long. you don't need to hurt your back on the floor when i'm not using the bed."

richard looks between her and the bed, wondering if she was serious or not. "is this a joke?"

princess lets out a exhausted sigh and looks up at richard, and for the first time she looks defeated. she looks tired. "look, richard, i really don't wanna argue. take the bed. i will wake you up when i'm gonna go to sleep if that's what gonna make you feel better, okay? just sleep."

richard just looks at her, taking in her features. she's clearly overworking herself, and it pisses him off because, seriously? richard needs to work because he needs to support his family, that's why he is fucking here, but princess? she was offered wealth from the moment she was born and she is working, for what? it's dumb. it's dumb and richard doesn't understand.

so he walks up to her and sits on the floor, right beside her legs.

"what are you doi-"

"isn't my duty to be by your side? there's no way i'm gonna sleep when you're here reading out some dumb deal with another kingdom. you're gonna be a real pissy lady when you wake up tomorrow. everyone knows how you get when you don't get any sleep."

"oh like you're the one to t-"

but instead of listening richard takes a paper in his hand. "let's get this over with."

princess looks at him. rachel feels eyes on her, but she doesn't budge. she royal promised to king to protect her daughter, after all.

princess sighs deeply and says, "okay."

they stay up all night. talking, correcting some holes in papers, and when it gets really late, they just start chatting. about everything and anything. making jokes, laughing silently, sharing memories and arguing about stuff. they fell asleep when it's almost dawn, but it's okay.

rachel decides princess is not that bad.

after that they become closer. princess becomes anastasia, and anastasia becomes stacy.

richard starts learning more about her. they start talking more like friends rather than people who has to put up with each other. richard making jokes about her princess duties and stacy shooting back by telling him about his lack of professionalism; richard learning stacy's routines, what makes her feel good when she is in a bad mood, who she likes, how she talks, how she thinks, how she loves simple designed clothes over overexaggerated ones because she doesn't like that kind of suffocation, how she carries a knife everywhere she goes and how she has one even under her pillow, everything.

and he learns stacy is smart. too smart, even. connected the dots like no one, found mistakes in their deals where they could take advantage of and face disadvantage, and most importantly, always paid attention to details, even the tiniest ones. as the time progressed, she sometimes pointed them out to richard, wondering if he caught them too. for example a business partner of theirs swallowing every time the statistics were brought up, or a servant of another king furrowing his brows lightly whenever king laughed about his treasure's hiding place. stacy requested a secret investigation on them, and it turned out business partner was a fraud and lied about incomes and success rate, and the servant was an agent who was sent by king's nemesis to steal his wealth.

richard got worried when he first realized this. if stacy was onto him, if she figured out his secret or she had known from the start, or she was about to know. richard wondered if stacy took notice of how he always got dressed in another room other than everyone, or how he picked on his shirt whenever the bandage slightly slipped, or how he never had facial hair, or how he was less muscular than his peers given the time he spent working out. it was little things, but stacy always paid attention to little things.

he wondered if she had known he was not the man he claimed to be and despite that she kept him beside her. he wondered if stacy would keep him by her side even if she found out he wasn't richard but rachel.

[jaywhere]

moom, dad and dad are fighting over which of them is the most fucked up again :(

poolverine wip extend, ~7k. i have been confined to my tablet with a bluetooth keyboard so she is no doubt extremely messy and i am also too lazy to post in parts so we will all have to deal with that! skip to *** for the new stuff, follow-up to HER

The doorframe rattles when Logan slams it shut.

With a sigh, he shrugs off his jacket. He makes a half-hearted attempt at hanging it on one of the hooks off to the right before giving up and allowing it to slump onto the floor. His feet drag, toes catching clumsily against the transitional swell between his living room’s wood paneling and the kitchenette’s linoleum.

The world is already tolerably fuzzy as he slams open the cabinet door. Logan closes his eyes against the sound of one of his neighbors showering and crickets chirping in the distance. He pulls out a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pops out the cork, and tilts his head back to take a few slow glugs. The alcohol slides down his throat, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The thunk of glass against the lacquered countertop echoes.

Today had not been a good day. The last few days hadn’t been good, really — although Logan’s not sure he’s ever had a good day. But the last few had been worse than usual. The kind of days that suck you dry, leave you nothing but a husk of a man at the end of ‘em. Logan glancces down at the bottle in his hand, wondering if he should down the whole thing now.

He squints. It looks significantly more full than he remembers.

It isn’t until the bathroom door swings open to release a cavalcade of barefoot footfalls and a cloud of hot steam, that Logan realizes it hadn’t been one of his neighbors showering.

“Logan Wolverine,” Wade Wilson announces, leveling an accusatory loofah brush towards him, “it’s time to resume our eternal battle.”

Drunk, Logan stares. The cloud of steam clears to reveal an expanse of marred skin interrupted only by the bright red kevlar of the Deadpool mask. A long beat passes wherein Logan stares directly at Wade’s bare cock dangling goofily between his legs before he jerks his head to the side.

“God damn, man, put some clothes on!” Logan turns, back to Wade. “And what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before, lover.” The only warning Logan gets before a hot, wet body is pressed against his back is the damp slap of wet feet on linoleum. By reflex, he turns and shoves three ragged claws directly into Wade’s stomach. “Oh, should’ve expected that. Gonna take a second to get over that one.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Logan stares down at him, spread-eagled in the kitchenette with thin streams of blood puddling on the floor. “You are wet and naked. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Well,” Wade responds. Completely shameless, he doesn’t even make an attempt to cover himself. Logan grinds his teeth and turns his back once again. “Considering that you just stabbed me. No! And besides, I have a job for you. Since you’re obviously done with your last one.”

Logan tips back the bottle of whiskey into his mouth. A few drops escape from the corner of his lips, which he doesn’t bother to wipe away. “What?”

“It’s something silly. A B-plot. Hijinks, if you will. The type suitable for some sort of one-shot. Maybe a two-shot if we get frisky.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Logan stares out the window above the sink. The foggy, smudged surface prevents him from seeing much other than the glaring approach of oncoming cars down the highway.

“I’m talking about an adventure! Work for the good of the universe! The two amigos at it again to save the world — or at least a very specific suburb of Milwaukee — “

“Yeah, I don’t actually do that anymore.” He takes another swig. Bottle’s halfway empty.

“Okay. Well, if I am being honest, I did accept a payment for this one. About a milli, but if you play nice, I would be willing to split it between the two of us.”

Another drink. A car roars down the highway, lights blazing. A fly buzzes above, imprisoned against the glare of the LEDs.

“No.”

“Okay, fine.” Wade’s exasperated tone shatters the melancholy mood. Logan wishes he would give up and leave already. Wishful thinking, he supposes. Not even educated. “It was two milli.”

“No.”

Logan slides the whiskey back into the cabinet. Wade mutters something he doesn’t bother to listen to. Rather, Logan steps over Wade’s naked, wet, healing body, opens the fridge, and pulls out a mostly-intact six pack. With a sigh, he walks into the living room, collapses onto the couch, and turns of the TV.

“Fine!” Wade shouts from the floor of the kitchenette. “It was five milli, but if you’re actually going to take half of that, I expect a blowjob for my finder’s fee, mister!”

Logan doesn’t respond. Nothing good on at 3 AM. He should be asleep. No way he’s going to do so with Wade Wilson loose in his place. He’s too tired, drunk, and miserable to do anything meaningful about him right now. He pops open one of the beers. On screen, a lion eviscerates a zebra while the narrator drones calmly on.

Damp footfalls on carpet. Wade stands just inside of Logan’s line of sight. He isn’t bleeding any more. “Oh no, I’m bleeding all over your carpet! Whatever are you going to do!”

Logan ignores him. The lion is rooting through the zebra’s guts now.

“Come on, I know you can’t be that busy. You’ve been gone for four whole days.”

Logan’s brow furrows. His head snaps in Wade’s direction. “You’ve been in my house for four days.”

“This, Logan, is an apartment. And yeah, where do you think all those dirty dishes came from?” Wade gestures vaguely towards the kitchen. Logan hadn’t even noticed. “Also, you probably want to change your sheets. And don’t look in your second dresser drawer, please, unless you’re like, way more into me than I think.”

“Okay.” Logan sets down his beer, looking Wade dead in the eye. Very intentionally, he does not glance down to where Wade’s cock is still flopping pathetically about between his legs. “I’m being serious. I need you to get out now.”

“Ooh, it’s serious time, alright.” He bends his knees, turns to the side, and arches his back so his ass sticks out. “And what happens if I don’t?”

Logan stands up. He can’t fucking deal with this right now. He grabs his coat, stumbling over to the door. He squints against a blast of cold air.

“Come on, Logan.” Wade attempts to dramatically slam the door shut. Logan rips it right back open and steps outside. “I can’t be so repugnant you don’t want to work with me even just a tiny little bit — “

“No, you are,” Logan says, just before slamming the door in Wade’s face.

There are a few blessed moments of silence as Logan walks up the half-set of stairs leading to the parking lot. His shoulders tense when he hears his door creak open again.

“Even though I’m offering you two and a half million? This place is dingy as fuck, the X-men cannot be paying you that much.”

The door slams closed behind Wade. Logan keeps his gaze fixed ahead. He doesn’t speak until he senses Wade right behind him. “Pretty sure the X-Men don’t get paid, bub.”

“What the fuck, good ol’ Chuck — who is definitely alive by the way, don’t you even worry your sweet little heads about it — doesn’t even pay you.” Logan keeps walking forward, desperately hoping that the crunch of gravel beneath his boots will eventually drown Wade out. “That’s inhumane. Even the Avengers get paid. What the hell else is he doing with that seemingly infinite pool of money? Also, what do you mean you’re pretty sure? You are working with the X-Men, aren’t you.”

Logan takes a deep breath. Without a word, he continues walking forward.

Wade gasps. They cross into the street now, beginning to walk down the empty road. Logan’s car isn’t even here. He'd left it at the bar.

“Oh my god, you’re not. What the hell have you been doing for the last year then, man?”

“Didn’t I very specifically say that we would not be seeing each other around?”

“Yes, but then you waddled that cute little ass directly into my apartment, and held my dog, and made friends with my friends and your not-daughter, all strongly implying to the audience that we were going to live happily ever after in homoerotic bliss!” 

The sound of skin smacking against skin echoes from behind Logan. Perhaps Wade smacking himself in the face. “I thought you were the reason they rejected me again, good ‘ol Logan wants nothing to do with Wade anymore for completely inscrutable reasons, but — “

Logan’s brow furrows. “They rejected you — ?”

The sentence dies a swift death to a cocktail of rage and embarrassment as he turns and realizes that Wade is still buck naked.

“ — sunuvabitch, put some damn clothes on!”

The emotionless white pits of the Deadpool mask stare back at Logan. “I will if you come back to your sad wolf boy apartment with me.”

Logan scowls. “No.”

Wade crosses his arms and waggles his hips. “I’m the one wearing the mask here. I have nothing to lose. You live here. And you have neighbors you care about. Apparently.” 

Logan turns his head, gritting his teeth against the feeling of complete mortification. With a grunt, he clips Wade’s shoulder as he passes him on the way back to his apartment.

“There’s my peanut, always happy to see me!”

Logan throws his jacket onto the floor as soon as he re-enters his apartment. Wilson is such a fucking nut-case.

— 

“Are you sure you don’t want to get down nasty style? If it’s just about the carpet, we can lay down a tarp or something. Or we can do it in the bathroom. Always keeps the ugly bumping tidy no matter the bodily fluids involved — I highly recommend it.”

Exhausted, Logan blinks very slowly as he stares at the TV. He sucks down another half a beer before responding. “Don’t you have a girl?”

“If by a girl,” Wade calls out from the bedroom, “you mean my fabulous new therapist Lisa, then yes. She is so dumb. Knows nothing about the horrific depths of the human spirit. Never been tortured, Logan, can you believe that? Not even once. She’s incredible. She has me using this new morality app — “

Logan shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. “I mean a girlfriend, wife situation.”

“Not anymore!”

Wade arrives in Logan’s field of vision wearing a pair of jeans which come to an abrupt end at his mid-shin. A white t-shirt is tucked into Wade’s belt, dangling pouches failing to disguise how comically large the waistband is on him. Strips of discolored skin are visible on his arms and legs. He’s still wearing the mask. He makes jazz hands.

“You look stupid.”

“You, too!” Wade points an accusatory finger at Logan. “Oh, who am I kidding? You pull it off. Why was I cursed with this glorious, mutilated twink body?”

With a huff, Wade collapses onto the couch. He places a hand on Logan’s thigh, which Logan quickly removes.

“Sorry about your girl.” Wade’s hand continues to sit placidly on the couch. Logan takes another swig of his beer.

“It’s fine.”

On screen, a family of gerbils scurry out of their burrow in the middle of a flood. The narrator dully reports that, in these conditions, the little beasts make easy prey for opportunistic predators.

“Actually, it’s not fine. You know, the really fucked-up thing is that — according to her, at least — it wasn’t the loser-era stuff, or the putting her in constant danger, or the severe mental health problems. Sometimes, things just don’t work out.” Wade turns away from Logan and stares into the middle distance. “And that, dear, readers, is a weak plotline, but it’s also real life. We all know you just want to see his one-eyed snake disappear into my wet cave and you’ll take any excuse you can get. Fuck!”

Wade throws his head onto the back of the couch.

“It may also just have been the severe mental health problems,” he admits. “She was really nice. Probably wouldn’t have said that if it were true.”

Logan drink again. One of the gerbils gets snapped up by a hawk in slow motion. “She would have,” he says. “She would’ve just said it nice.”

Wade sighs. “Yeah.”

Wordlessly, Logan hands him a beer.

“You know, I’m not supposed to drink on my medication. But this is probably enough of a special occasion.” Logan’s not sure whether it’s a joke. He’d never known Wade — any iteration — to be particularly stable. In fairness, Logan has never been either.

When Wade takes the bottle, Logan pops the top off with one partially extended claw. Wade scoffs and takes a sad, quiet drink. Out of juice. Silence encroaches.

“So,” Logan starts. “You’re back on your merc shit, huh?”

“Kinda.” Wade slouches into the crevices of the couch. For a moment, he looks pathetically small. “I’m trying to incorporate my burgeoning moral compass into my work now. Man’s gotta eat.”

“Five million dollars ain’t grocery money.”

When Wade sits up, it’s like a switch flips on in his brain. “In this economy? You’d be lucky to get a loaf of bread for 50K!”

Logan ignores him. He finishes off his beer, then sets the empty bottle on the coffee table.

“So does this mean you’re gonna help me? Or fuck me? I was hoping for both but at this point I’d take either.” He leans closer, staring out at Logan from behind his mask.

Logan sighs. “I said I’m not doing that shit.”

“Logan.” Wade’s voice is deadly serious. “My bowels are clear. But if you’re really that worried about it, I can give myself an enema first.”

Logan reaches over and takes the beer back. Wade doesn’t flinch.

“Hey, come on. You literally save the multiverse, heroically switch timelines, sidestep the life-ruining consequences of your actions. You get to live in a world where you’re a hero, and not one where all of your friends are dead. That is literally once-in-thousands-of-lifetimes kind of luck. And you’re gonna use that ridiculous stroke of luck to sit on the couch all day?”

Shouldn’t be surprising. Logan was already familiar with Wade’s personal definition of heroism. With jaw tight, Logan keeps his gaze fixed forward. His grip tightens around Wade’s beer. Fingers twitching, he downs a third of it.

“I’m honestly shocked the TVA didn’t make you go home off-screen, just for continuity’s sake. I guess they want you to be in more — “

“In case you didn’t catch that,” Logan says, glaring at Wade out of the corner of his eye, “that was an invitation to leave.”

“But you did give me the beer. Invitation extended. And I bet if I ignore your grumpy mug and stay a little bit longer, I can get you to do it again!”

Logan doesn’t respond. He’s lost track of how much he’s had to drink. The whiskey from before is just now starting to hit him, thoughts growing sluggish, warmth crawling through his limbs. He downs the rest of Wade’s beer and cracks open another.

“For real, man.” Wade leans closer, squinting. “Why are you not chilling with the X-Men. They’re all alive here. Or, like, mostly. Probably.” His head turns, glancing around the room chaotically. “Those timelines were always really hard to follow. And our whole thing just didn’t make any sense at all, so it’s probably way easier to just show up and find out who’s alive, but like, it’s definitely most of them. I saw Kurt last week. Blue. Tail. All that fun stuff. You two are supposed to be buds.”

A black hole opens up in the pit of Logan’s stomach.

“You like reality TV, right? That seems like your kind of trash.” Logan flips through the channels. The warmth that radiates off of Wade as he leans in closer is probably Logan’s imagination.

“Logan.” Wade whispers. “Answer the question.”

Teeth grit, Logan hisses, “Or else what?”

“Or else.” Logan rolls his eyes when he feels the cool barrel of a gun press against his temple. He continues flipping through the channels. “We will have to continue our eternal — oh, Love Island, I love this shit.” Logan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You know, the US version is so bland in comparison to the UK one — wait a second, you’re trying to distract me!”

With a sigh, Logan leans his head back on the couch. His thoughts are becoming delightfully fuzzy, now. He plays the game. “You ever get that ADHD testing done?”

Wade narrows his eyes. “No.”

If Wade had come here to commiserate — to play games — Logan can be fine with that. A few hours ago he’d lifted his cheek off of the bar with red in his mind’s eye. Her hair, her fire, her blood. The last few months had been lonely.

An unnatural silence fills the room when Logan closes his eyes. Wade moves, silent and fast. Thighs bracketing Logan’s, erratically-textured palms cradling his cheeks. Chest tight like he’d been strangled. Logan’s knuckles are pressed to Wade’s ribs, all reflex.

“Get off me.” The vision of his blades slicing through Wade’s soft stomach is clear in his mind’s eye.

“Logan.” Wade’s fingers on his cheek are patronizing. “My bro. My good boy. My homie. My personal hero. That would ruin your couch.”

Wade’s body going slack in Logan’s arms. Manic twinkles of laughter in his ear. Spilled blood sucked up by denim and upholstery. Logan grits his teeth. Silence ticks on.

“Which you care about, because you’re broke, because you’re not fucking around with Chuck — who definitely pays people, by the way.” Wade’s voice is loud and annoying. “So come help me, Obi Wan. You’re my only hope.”

The sharp snikt of Logan’s claws slicing through his own skin occurs not half a second after Wade rolls off of him.

“For the last fucking time,” Logan growls. He can feel his own throat rumble, his self-control slipping as the alcohol suffuses his cells. “No.”

Wade crouches in the middle of Logan’s living room, ready to pounce. The upturned corners of his lips are visible even beneath the mask. “It’s not even a hit job. More of a rescue, really. And it’s delightfully silly. And afterwards we can do a little horizontal — “

Logan scowls. “Stop.”

His muscles are heavy, drawing him further back into the couch. He shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Wilson is a clown, but he’s not incompetent. Logan’s heart races against an impending sense of danger.

All at once, Wade collapses onto his ass. He pulls out his phone, gaze fixed on the screen. Logan couldn’t relax if he wanted to.

“Okay, I hear that you’re setting a boundary. Lisa’s been telling me a lot about those. So I’m willing to stop talking about sex. If you come with me.”

“And yet you apparently didn’t hear me when I told you to leave.”

Logan leans forward. Moonlight stretches down the length of his claws in reflection.

“Come on, Logan, we all know you weren’t being serious then.” Wade flaps his wrist dismissively. He’d probably still be cracking jokes if Logan were to snap it. “Which is definitely how it works. And you can’t say otherwise because you don’t even go to therapy.”

Logan says nothing. Wade stares at him, as if waiting for a response.

“If you did, your therapist would definitely tell you that you should come with me. And also that you should probably go hit up your good ol’ bubs the — “

“No.”

Logan stands. His patience is running out. He’s wobbly, unsteady. Wade’s fast. A bloodthirsty cacophony clamors in the back of his mind. Two kicks would leave Wade’s brains splattered across a broken television screen, a left hook could snap his neck on the edge of the coffee table, triplet blades rending flesh from his heart down to his gut leaving him flopping like a fish out of water on the carpet — 

“Fine.” Wade sighs. He stares down at his phone. Logan itches for violence. “I didn’t want to resort to this, but you leave me no choice.”

The sound of dice rolling fills the apartment. Wade gasps, turning his phone screen to display a mischievous-looking emoji with an angel halo. A beat passes with Logan’s head tilted in utter confusion.

“Chaotic heroic. I love this one. Always so weird.”

Swiftly, he pops open the velcro of one of his pouches. Logan’s eyes go wide as he pulls out a grenade.

“Wade,” Logan says. His voice is tense, pulse thundering in his ears. Wade’s attitude had felt strange — stranger — but he hadn’t anticipated this. “Put that down. This is an apartment building. There are innocent people here.”

With a giggle, Wade stands. He loops one finger through the pull ring, swinging it casually around his finger. “Oh, I know.”

Logan lunges at him. Wade sidesteps easily, laughing as Logan sprawls inelegantly across the floor. His limbs are heavy, the air baring down on him as he pushes himself up.

“I don’t know what kinda psycho fuckin’ meltdown you’re having because your girl dumped you, Wilson, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you — “

A hand held over his heart. “Wow. Last-named. The hurt. How would you feel if I called you — wait, what is your last name?”

“I’m not gonna let you kill a bunch of people for no goddamn reason.”

A swipe, dodged. Wade’s pressed flat against his front door. Logan throws his fist, embedding his claws in the wood instead of Wade’s skull. He screams as he yanks them out.

“Wow, Logan. It’s only been six months and you’ve gotten so slow! Or is it the alcohol?”

One last shot. Logan goes for his gut, but Wade’s too fast. He’s across the room before Logan’s halfway through the swing.

There’s no fanfare when he decided to stop playing games.

“Relax,” he calls from across the room. Logan watches in horror as he pulls the pin, tossing the grenade live across the living room. “This’ll only take a second.”

***

“Wakey-wakey, peanut.”

A finger taps his nose. Logan’s head throbs. His eyelids scrape like sandpaper. The sun is rising at the end of a long, thin stretch of highway.

Logan surges, movement stopped by the seatbelt.

Wade clicks his tongue in the driver’s seat. “I told you I didn’t wanna do this, Logan.”

“Sunuvabitch,” Logan mutters. His hands are bolted behind his back, ankles tied together. A thick chain secures the thick cuffs above his knees to a metal rod beneath the seat. “What the fuck — “

“Now, Logan.” Wade’s voice is chastizing, like he’s talking to a child. Logan seethes. “Before you extend those pretty little claws of yours — “

The upholstery of the passenger’s seat tears. Logan struggles only to find he doesn’t have enough leverage to slice through the metal holding the seat together. The seatbelt stretching across his chest locks his back flat against the back of the seat.

“That was literally what I just — “ Wade groans, smacking himself in he forehead. “This is why I can’t have nice things. You know I got this car from Spiderman, tricked the whole thing out, gave it a roof, and you just come in here with your little honey badger shit and just — “

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Logan screams.

“Calm down,” Wade says. “You’d think a little nap would make you less cranky. And before you ask, everyone is fine. It was just a little gas. I can’t believe you thought I would actually blow up an apartment building for fun.”

“I,” Logan rasps, “am going to fucking kill you.”

“Easier said than done,” Wade chirps. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Also, I’m driving this car on an incredibly busy highway so anything you do to me is likely to result in some random bystanders dying in a fiery car crash.”

Logan turns to look out the window. In the span of a few seconds, Wade blasts pasts one, two, three other cars on the right. 

“How fucking fast are you — “

“Uh…” The car twists into the right lane, then back into the left. “110. Thereabouts.”

Logan grits his teeth. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

“You know I’m just going to kill you whenever I have the chance.”

“And in the meantime, we have the opportunity to get in some quality time together while I convince you that — “

“Kidnapping me is not starting off on a good foot.”

“We weren’t on a good foot in the first place, Logan. And you know whose fault that was?” Logan curses under his breath as the right side wheels of the car lift from the pavement as Wade rounds a curve in the highway. “You. And you know, it didn’t have to be this way. We had a good thing going for awhile, me and you. And you had that wholesome daddy-daughter dynamic going on with X-whatever — “

“Her name is Laura.”

“ — not to say that we don’t also have a daddy-daughter dynamic of a different flavor going on.”

“You’re a disgusting son of a bitch, you know that?” Anger coils in the pit of Logan’s stomach as Wade dodges around another car. The violent honking fades out quickly.

“Very aware, thank you! But you just had to do the same shit you always do — “

“You don’t know shit about me, bub.”

“ — and leave. And being me, I was going to go look for you, but Vanessa, she’s all he has his reasons and he has to go on his own journey to figure out who he is and you need to leave people alone if they want to be left alone — “

“So your girl dumped you again and that’s my problem, somehow?”

“Something like that!” He’s wearing his suit again, leather-gloved fingers strangling the steering wheel. “So the job is outside of Milwaukee, not too far from here actually, really low-level stuff but I tried to take ‘em out last week and it was somewhat of a comical failure.”

The car jerks from side to side as Wade weaves through traffic. The back of Logan’s head throbs with a hangover — from the bottle of whiskey or from whatever Wade had dosed him with, he’s not sure. He holds in a growl and resists the urge to scream. The desire to completely lose control bubbles up in the pit of his stomach. He struggles to come up with a good justification not to.

“And I know what you’re thinking, Logan - wow, can’t believe this guy is skipping right over the emotional trauma of losing his girlfriend for the third or fourth time, depending on how you count it, and he’s totally emotionally dodging all of the important feelings that he’s feeling right now.” 

Logan closes his eyes, breathing in and out through his nose. Wade Wilson is a fucking shitstain of a human being. This isn’t new information to him.

“And you would be totally right — “ The image of Wade in blue, scrambling from rooftop to rooftop flashes across Logan’s mind. Bells jingling, laughter echoing, blood dripping from the sack thrown over his shoulder as he lobs a severed arm directly at Logan’s face. The car lurches as he skids around a little white sedan on the right, barely managing to avoid scraping the barrier on the right that stands between the car and the ditch below. “But that’s not even the point right now, because we have to break into a top-secret bse to stage a rescue mission for our comrade-in-arms — “

“Pull over.”

Logan’s head is pounding. Wade finally shuts up. The stench of his sweat is tangy in Logan’s nostrils.

“What?”

“Pull the fucking car over and untie me. I’ll help you.”

The seatbelt cuts into Logan’s chest when Wade slams on the breaks.

It’s a little scenic overlook. A car races past them, honking. Wade turns to stare at him for an unsettlingly silent moment.

“Damn, okay.”

The door slams behind him. He swings his hips exaggeratedly as he rounds the hood. Logan is overcome with the urge to rip out his throat. 

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Wade starts as he opens the passenger-side door, “but why, exactly, would you agree to help me?”

Logan clenches his jaw. Wade unties his ankles first, then unlocks the cuffs around his thighs before he glances up expectantly. Logan tries to mask the seething violence raging just underneath his skin. Given the way that Wade winks flirtatiously at him, he suspects that he’s failed.

“I’m already here, aren’t I?” Logan speaks through gritted teeth.

Wade shrugs. He unbuckles Logan’s seatbelt. “Fair enou—”

Logan’s shoulder smacks into Wade’s nose with as much force as he can muster. Wade’s body sprawls back. His head thunks loudly against first the metal barrier, then the asphalt. The tip of Logan’s boot seeks out Wade’s windpipe and bears down just hard enough to cut off his air. Wade’s eyelids flutter.

“Oh, how I hate to lose,” Wade mutters. Logan crouches to pick up the key from the ground, quickly unlocking his own wrists. “But how I love to lose.”

“Don’t make any goddamn sense, bub.” He rolls Wade over with the toe of his boot, forehead scraping against the barrier once again. Wade is dazed, groaning. Logan scoffs when he feels Wade lift his own arms for Logan to lock them behind his back.

Logan doesn’t have time for this. Or at least not the damn energy. He fully intends to get back in the driver’s seat, book it back to his dingy little apartment just long enough to grab the few important items he has. Losing the damn car should really be the least of Wade’s problems.

But when Logan stares down at him, face-down in the gravel, moaning just a little too loudly as he writhes around on the ground — he feels bad. There have been more times than Logan can count that he’s looked far more pathetic than Wade has right now. Tried to pull himself up by his bootstraps every time, completely failed more often than not.

Logan sighs. He flips Wade back over, hauls him up by the nape of his suit, and tosses him into the passenger’s seat.

He’s about to slam the door shut when he thinks to unbuckle Wade’s belt. He tosses it — pouches, holsters, guns and all — into the back seat.

“Wow, daddy,” Wade mutters. “I didn’t know you were into bondage.”

Logan scowls at him. “Don’t make me regret not leavin’ you on the side of the road, Wilson.”

“Daddy, if you wanted to play rough, all you had to do was — “

Logan slams the door in his face.

“Ask.” Wade finishes his sentence as soon as Logan re-enters on the driver’s side.

“Tired of watchin’ you drive like a fuckin’ maniac.” Logan pulls the seat up, then adjusts the mirrors. Wade keeps his mouth shut about the difference in height — smart. “Gonna fucking kill someone.”

“Fair, but you didn’t need to tie me up. We should at least pull up Google Maps so we know where we’re going — “ 

Logan pulls back onto the highway as soon as he sees a break in traffic, then turns to shoot Wade an incredulous look.

“I’m no goin’ to help you. I’m goin’ home.” He pulls into a parking lot on the left and hangs a right. The dashboard flashes 6:33 AM at him. The bags under his eyes tug at his eyelids. He wishes he was drunk.

“Wow,” Wade says. “I cannot believe the X-Man, Wolverine, is a liar.”

“I can’t believe that known asshole, Deadpool, would kidnap a guy — oh, wait. I can believe that.”

Wade ignores him. “I come all the way out to bumfuck nowhere to magnanimously kidnap you to get you out of your sad wolf boy depressive slump, just as you once did for me — well, I also kidnapped you then, didn’t I?” Logan rubs at his face, trying to tune Wade out. He accelerates up to the speed limit. “And that totally got me out of a depressive slump. Ultimate message: kidnapping works.”

For a beat, Wade pauses as if waiting for a response. Logan ignores him.

“And at the end of the day, after everything I’ve done for you, you repay me by going directly back to where you came from?”

“Yes.”

Wade leans forward. Probably trying to break out of those handcuffs — ain’t subtle. Logan hadn’t bothered to actually restrain him in any meaningful way. As annoying and insistent as Wade is, Logan can’t imagine he has much steam left for this ridiculous charade. 

“You won’t even come with me to help me on an actually magnanimous quest?”

“No.”

The silence stretches out. Wade sighs.

“Come on, man. You gotta be real with me for a second. What gives? We had a good thing going for a couple of months. Little team-up here, over at my place for dinner every once in a while, making friends with my friends. And I know the drinking was getting pretty bad — which like, if I’m saying that, you know that’s real because I have literally a full pound of cocaine stashed away in my apartment — “

He doesn’t. Logan would’ve been able to smell it.

“And you had this whole ridiculous self-hating thing about how you’re not allowed to just cheat and be an X-man in this universe. But things were good. I thought that we were building something good together. And we were going to get past it.”

Logan feels the steering wheel creak under the force of his grip.

“Oh, buddy. There it is. Come on, hit me, baby. Let is all out.”

“You wanna know why I left, Wade?” Logan snaps.

“Yes. Very clearly. That’s why I asked.”

“Because wrecking your entire world, resulting in the deaths of thousands of people, is not the kind of shit you get to just brush off and pretend didn’t happen so you can go play house with alternate versions of the people that you got fucking killed.”

He’s panting. For a moment, Logan’s eyes go unfocused. Particles of his own spit have splattered across the windshield.

“Oh, boo-hoo. So Wolvie has to punish himself for being the big evil bad guy, as if saving literally every life in the multiverse didn’t absolve him.” 

There’s a note of cruelty in his tone that makes Logan want to throw him out the window.

“Doing something good doesn’t make the bad shit you’ve done in the past okay.”

“Mm, pretty sure it does, actually.” 

There’s sarcasm dripping from Wade’s tone. Mean, self-absorbed. Logan aches for Kurt — would’ve told him that sin is in the nature of being human, that he’d already more than proven himself worthy of his continued existence, then make a joke that was actually funny.

Unfortunately, that version of Kurt is long dead.

“You see all these cars around us?” Wade gestures at the vehicles zipping by. “I’m the reason they’re all alive. They all owe me. Which means it doesn’t matter if I kill that guy, or those people, or that old lady, or — “

“You’re worse than the last time I saw you.”

There was a spark in that little rant that reminds logan of Wade — the other one. He had still been alive when this Wade had kidnapped him, at least as far as Logan is aware. Guys like the two of them are hard to kill. The way Logan had heard it, he’d gotten cut to pieces a few months after shit started to really hit the fan. Took him five or six years to come back. Logan had always figured it was the pain that had sent him off the deep end. Now Logan wonders if it was the realization of just how alone he was.

“Yeah,” Wade agrees. “I wonder if that has something to do with the fact that my people keep leaving me.”

Logan breathes in. He waits for Wade to continue, for sarcastic comments. Nothing comes.

“You know this doesn’t have anything to do with you, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s not you, it’s me. Oldest trick in the book.”

Logan can’t hide his incredulous reaction. “We’re not dating. You know that, right?”

Wade squints. “Tell that to the Honda Odyssey. And Madonna. And my asshole.”

It occurs to Logan that crashing the car might not be an entirely undesirable experience.

“You have a girlfriend.”

“Had. Past-tense. She left, too.”

“You know you’re just gonna get right back together after you’ve gotten over whatever kind of breakdown this is, right? And your gal’s a pretty straight shooter. Just figure out whatever it is that she wants you to figure out — “

“Not this time. All-in-all, pretty good confirmation that I am actually worth dogshit despite my magnanimous multiverse-saving tendencies. And I’m not having a breakdown.”

Logan wonders if this is what it’s like talking to him.

“You understand that these two situations we’re talking about have literally nothing in common.” Wade kicks his feet. It feels like talking to a child.

“I don’t know, feels just about a gut-stabby from my perspective.”

“We are not dating. We’re — “ Logan hesitates over the word friend. “We don’t have a thing.”

“Oh, how the mind loves to rewrite history. We definitely have a thing, peanut. Or at least we did.”

Logan scoffs. At the end of his rope, he snaps, “You are such a fuckin’ narcissist.”

“Acknowledging that we had a good thing going which was then ruined by you leaving has nothing to do with my narcissism.” He thinks he’s so fuckin’ funny.

“No, thinking that me leaving is some reflection on you is narcissistic.”

Wade leans in over the center console, eyes narrowed. “‘Bout to throw you a curveball, peanut: thinking that I wouldn’t see you leaving as a reflection on my own self-worth is narcissistic. We are just the same, you and I. Two bloodthirsty little peas in a pod — “

Logan pushes Wade away, palm spanning most of the area of his face. “You think this is how you’re going to get me to help you out? Being an annoying fuckin’ asshole?”

“No.” Logan can hear the smirk in his voice. “I think that being an annoying asshole is how I’m going to get you to fuck me. Hold on.”

To Logan’s complete and utter exhaustion, Wade takes his hands out from behind his back. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, pulling up that stupid fucking app again. He glances up at Logan, muttering, “Pretend you’re not seeing this, it made me pop a l’il half-chub when you tied me up. That shit was hot.”

The words, you know there’s a reason people keep leaving you, right? sit heavy on Logan’s tongue. He wants to punch Wade in the side of the head, drag him out of the car, slice and hack and cut until he finally shuts the fuck up. Shame immediately follows the thought. A hundred sets of lips curl around the word bloodthirsty in his mind’s eye.

Wade taps away at his phone, swearing. Logan watches him re-roll multiple times. He had really tried to tear Wade down in the Honda whatever. Wade had pissed him off, and Logan wanted to tear him down. Force him to end whatever stupid little delusion he had in his head about saving the world. 

Wade hadn’t klet him. A fucked-up kind of stubborn that Logan can’t help but admire when he thinks about it. Logan wishes he had that same level of dedication.

“Okay, fuck yes. True neutral. Nice.”

Logan sighs. Can’t believe he’s developing a soft spot for Wade Wilson, of all people.

That soft spot melts away as soon as Wade sprawls across the front seat to set his head in Logan’s lap.

His leg jerks. Wade’s head bounces but remains firmly on Logan’s thigh. “What the fuck are you doin’, you want us to get in an accident?”

“No, I rolled true neutral. So obviously, I’m introducing you to the idea that I could give you road head. But I’m not pushing you strongly either way.”

Logan grits his teeth.

With barely-contained force, he shoves Wade’s head off of his lap and pulls the car off to the side of the road. Pines as far as the eye can see. He pulls the keys out of the ignition. 

“Get outta the car.”

Wade pouts. “But daddy, I can’t. You tied me up.”

Logan watches as he tries to slide the handcuffs back onto himself. He grabs Wade by the front of his costume and spits in his face.

“You,” Logan hisses, “are bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous. Over here actin’ like this is a fuckin’ porno every chance you get cause you think that’s gonna make you feel better about your girl fuckin’ leaving. I am not your personal fuckin’ attention fountain, or your daddy, or whatever the fuck you think this is. Get out of the car.”

He throws Wade into the passenger’s side door.

Logan shoves the keys into his pockets as he walks away. He doesn’t look back. A few moments later, he hears the crunch of Wade’s boots against the pine needles. Without a word, he follows Logan.

“Oh,” Wade pipes up after they’ve walked a few hundred feet in silence. “This is like a game. We’re going to roleplay Twilight: New Moon? You know, in this universe there’s this weird tangential link between 9/11 and — “

“Shut up.”

Wade does. Logan takes a deep breath before he turns around.

There had been a lot of people in Logan’s life that he’d wanted to help only to completely and utterly fail. He remembers how proud he’d felt when he’d first heard Wade mention his ten people, that’s it. Logan had mattered. He had changed something for the better.

Wade stands in front of him, this ball of self-destruction, compulsively pushing and pulling the people around him with his stupid jokes, and Logan can’t help but feel as if he’s failed yet again.

“If I need to beat the fucking horny out of you before you can have a conversation like an adult, fine.”

Wade tilts his head. “Who’s saying I won’t beat the horny out of you first?”

“I’m not fuckin’ horny, Wade.”

The tension escalates. Logan swallows.

“That half-chub I sniffed earlier begs to differ.” Logan says nothing, jaw clenched. “How about this: winner gets to do whatever the fuck they want to the loser.”

Logan snorts. “Okay, bub.”

Wade taps his finger on his chin. He arches his back, teasing. “Just no teeth when I shove my cock in your mouth, okay? That’s no way to win a fight.”

He wags a chastising finger at Logan. It looks ridiculous. Logan desperately wishes he wasn’t into it. 

“Don’t feel like that really even needed to be said.” Logan’s eyes flicker down to Wade’s belt. No idea when he had retrieved it from the back seat. “No guns.”

Wade throws his hands up dramatically. “What the fuck, come on!”

“This ain’t bumfuck nowhere. Unless you want the fuckin’ cops called, no guns.” Logan smirks. “As if they’re gonna do you any goddamn good.”

“Fine.” Wade squints. He pulls each gun out of its holster, releases the magazines onto the ground with a dull little thud, and tosses them off to the side. “No guns.”

Logan’s claws extend with a satisfying snikt.

“And my mask doesn’t come off.”

Quietly, Logan scoffs. “Whatever.”

[edgyedgelord]

I'm supposed to be writing right now but I want to say something that I tell myself. I hope it helps you too.

Art isn't just a hobby. It can be a job. It's not a perfect job, but it's still a job that makes you happy. Not many other career paths can say that. Warning: This is a tangent post made by an anarchist. If you don't want to read a long novel length ramble about why money is a corrupting construct and capitalism is made to break poor people move along.

I've noticed in my 21 years on this planet, nearing the 22 mark as spring approaches, that jobs are often given a value. If you're a doctor you've got a high quality job because you went to school, got a degree, and get paid a lot. But what about nurses? They work in the same place and went to school for a certification, some a degree as well, but they aren't paid as much and are treated poorly. Why? Well because they're not doctors. They can have the same amount of knowledge, sometimes more depending on who the doctor is, but their job is seen as lower just because of the pay and general view of it in the eyes of society.

Most of the people who will tell you all this and which job is the most valuable and what to go for actually don't know much about the inner workings. Go ahead, ask someone who's told you something like this if they've done much research outside of watching a video on social media and reading random posts without checking the validity behind them.

Another things with doctors, nurses, construction workers, all these jobs everyone tells you to get instead of something you'd actually enjoy is they don't face the fact, or rather they choose to just accept the fact and do nothing about it, that those in charge are gonna kick. you. around. until you give up or give in. Those who give up usually didn't even want the job in the first place. Those who give in always dreamed of this job but once they're in it that blind optimistic veil is torn away.

Zom100 is an anime that opens with a guy going into an office job where he works for a company that produces commercials. He's a writer for the scripts and helps with casting and went in expecting to make tons of friends, meet stars, and even falls for the secretary and wishes to confess to her one day. It starts off all bright and colorful since that's how he views the world in his eyes. After going out drinking with his coworkers after their first day of work is done, everything stops. The happy smiles and attitudes of his employees vanish as they return to work and our protagonist is met with the horrible work grind culture he's walked into. Yet, he stays optimistic in the hopes he can stay strong only to finally break after a year of working at the business. He stumbles home from exhaustion to his now trashed apartment full of garbage bags, trash covering the floors, just looking like a dump because he's to exhausted from working and staying at the office days at a time to be able to clean up.

I love the first episode of Zom100, although only the first episode, because it does a FANTASTIC job at giving a message I live by. "Do not settle for treatment that is less than what you deserve." It shows what happens when you go for the give in option of what I mentioned earlier. If your boss is dumping work on you but not anyone else, call them out. If you're being harassed in the workplace and there is a clear bias because of your gender, race, or anything else, call them out. If your pay is far less than the amount you work, call them out. If they refuse to make any changes despite you having concrete evidence because they will lose the money they have to spare, quit and call them out.

The older folk in my life have told me time and time again that "You work for bad people to pay worse people and then die." (Not a direct quote but it summarizes what they say.) These people come from a time where there was an even worse imbalance in power and they had to give in to live due to the many things going on in the world at that time that made living conditions horrible if you weren't already super rich. It isn't like that anymore though.

The economy and people in power is still messed up yes we need to work on that but that isn't what this post is about.

Glitch Studios is an animation studio aiming to give independent animation a place to shine and has been doing so with MASSIVE success. It's thanks to them that indie work is finally getting looked at by bigger studios. Personally, I see this as a sign that art is finally getting a more proper place in the general view of society as a proper career path. Only issue is it's focused on animation.

I'm not an animator, I'm a writer and lover of comics. Would I want some of my stuff adapted into animation? By fans out of love for the works, yes, as an official adaptation for profit? No.

It's not a smart move marketing wise or profit wise but that's the thing. I'm not some old white guy sitting on a throne of gold bars in a big evil company business building, I'm a 20 something at a desk in a dusty apartment room surrounded by goofy posters and plushies. I don't care about money, I care about making things I and others love. I think that's what people have forgotten recently when it comes to working in this world. You can work and work and work and pay rent and be able to buy that new outfit to wear at your family gathering to show off but how long will you be happy from that? Small moments of joy is fine and treating yourself is fine too, but what do you do to make yourself happy while still fulfilling a purpose? Do you feel like you fulfill a purpose? What did you want to do, not need to do.

Working retail is seen as your go to starter job or just what you go to when you need to pay the bills. It's not a shameful thing to do, nor is any job when you just need an income for necessities. But, what if that's what you want to do? You don't want a giant house, you don't want a fancy car, you don't want Gucci clothes, you enjoy the simple job and lifestyle. That's fine. No matter if your parents say you're throwing away your potential, no matter if the world says you need to run a company, no matter what people say it is okay to have simple goals and a simple life.

Minimalism is the practice of only having what you need for what you want to do. This is the video that first got me thinking about it.

It's something I think people need to be taught about more. Now I'm not saying you shouldn't go and sell off everything you own, but maybe at least think "Do I really need a $200 phone from a popular brand that doesn't even come with a charger? Do I need it? What parts of it validate the cost?"

Now here is how this all ties back to my overall message with this tangent.

I want to make indie comics because it makes me happy. It makes my friends who have helped me shaped the stories, characters, and everything else happy. And, overall, I hope it makes others happy too. Not to mention, I can't exactly think about signing up with some popular publishing company because of how loudly of an anarchist I am and how diverse I make my work.

Why I'm making this post is because I want to get you thinking about this too. Are you happy with whatever job you have right now? Are you fairly treated? Is this what you want? Are you brainwashed by societal norms made by the big companies that you need whatever big and fancy phone or computer set up you're reading this on? If you said no to any of this I suggest looking into your own personal rights as a human being and standing up for yourself, think about forming a union if need be. If your issue is with buying expensive things you don't even need feel free to trade them in or sell them and get what you need and can be happy with while having extra money left over.

Remember, you don't need to be make a billion dollars each week to be successful. Happiness is from what you do and what makes you happy, not your bank account amount or how many bedrooms you have in a mansion. Most of all, happiness is what you choose to make it not what some old jerks who think Trump is a sane man say it is.

[muninnhuginn]

for the ask game, spy x family 🕶💣

Sorry for the delay! I got ambushed by rl and then ambushed myself for several more days and-- anyway, I had to put this under the cut because it got long. Thanks for asking!

my favorite female character

yor yor yor. I like her for a few reasons, but I think the main thing is just generally her main emotional arc thus far. how she wants to 'belong' but how she also needs to 'fit in' and how it also circles around the idea of normality. she thinks she wants to be normal when what she wants is to be accepted. and she knows she needs to be *seen* as normal for safety reasons (sth sth societal commentary even outside of the cold war backdrop) but she doesn't understand *how*. what does it mean to be a mother and to be a wife and what aspects of that does she want to fulfill for herself and which is she just doing because it's part of her cover.

she has all these needs and wants and hasn't yet figured out how to even begin untangling them. and despite that, she's still one of the most emotionally intelligent characters in the series.

my favorite male character

loid. he's the obvious option but still. I always tend to appreciate the anxious types and whilst technically all of the main three have their own little anxiety spirals, loid's way of overcomplicating things is my favourite. he's a very intriguing mix of anxiety, denial, and competence.

I am very much enjoying the length of time it's taking to wear him down. we only got full confirmation he's actively compromised as of the mole arc which is super recent but for me the pacing is just right. he has to earn that character development and be dragged through kicking and screaming.

my favorite book/season/etc

volume 10 (starts with [redacted] arc and has some good handler moments (though I *think* my favourite handler chapter is later on))

my favorite episode (if its a tv show)

genuinely not sure. I do think the very first episode has a really good mix of comedy and earnestness with a hint of the underlying tragedy in growing up during wartime. it spells out everything to expect down the line in a very nicely balanced way

my favorite cast member

I... don't know? I think for Yor's VA this is my favourite role of hers whilst Anya's VA I prefer most as Frieren but like. IDK tbh. Can I skip?

my favorite ship

Not super into shipping in this fandom, but overall, I'd say twiyor. the fact that it's a 'fake' relationship but they enter into it on honest enough terms that they actually make something really healthy for both of them out of it. they each mutually get something out of it too.

yor wants to be useful. she's grown up providing for yuri and now he's gone all she has left is her job, but this 'relationship' and her new family give her the opportunity to *do* something. to defend and protect her people. and to give her someone to confide in, where she's never had that before.

for twilight, he's always been planning and preparing for all possibilities. always acting, never letting anyone see what's beneath, until he had forgotten even himself. one of my fave twiyor moments was in the recent chapter where twilight gets home and immediately his legs give out, because he feels *safe*. he's let his guard down with yor and even if he's worried about being compromised, he let it down because he trusts in her character. the remedy for someone so full of masks is someone devoid of them, and for all that yor is the thorn princess, she has never faked *who* she is.

and tying back to what I was saying about yor and normality before. the fact that loid knows what it's like to pretend means that he's in the position to tell yor that she's good as she is. she doesn't *need* to fake her whole personality to fit in. sure, they both have their covers, but for the large part, what's beneath is genuine.

a character I’d die defending

I think nightfall's character may not be as developed as most people would like at this stage, but the way she's written is very deliberate. she's a compare/contrast with yuri (and also to some extent, with twilight) and she shows how love and obsession intertwine. how *obsession* can be dangerous. the mole arc to me is waving a big red flag above nightfall's head and saying that if she doesn't change something, if she keeps metaphorically diving headfirst in front of twilight, then she's going to end up the one riddled with bullets.

a character I just can’t sympathize with

not that we're likely supposed to but donovan desmond

a character I grew to love

handler! it's not that I ever disliked her as such, but for a long time she just seemed a kind of girlboss-esque character with a neat character design. she had her moments (bond arc speech and also propaganda chapter my beloved), but it wasn't until we had her focus chapter where we followed her day that I was like "oh." Like, I knew that she'd lost her family, but I was falling for the facade that she was on top of everything. And the realisation that she wasn't? That she was deep in depression, but you know who might dig her out of it? Her pet dog and a little girl. Definitely got to me.

my anti otp

anti otp is a bit strong a feeling for it, but I think the way I read damianya differs from a decent chunk of the fandom. I tend to see it as one-sided and am perfectly happy for it to stay that way or for them to just end up becoming better friends down the line, but I know what I'm against here so I'm not going to place any bets.

[simpingcorner]

Daughter of the Shadows Ch. 4

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: mild violence (mention of stabbing, mention of physical fighting), blood, mention of alcohol, mention of gambling,near death experience, mention of Kaz’s past, Kaz Brekker (I know it shouldn’t be a warning, but Kaz’s ability of dealing with his feelings is a warning to me),not proofread, let me know if I forgot something.

Author's Note: Fourth chapter to my Grishaverse fanfic. I really hope I’ve done Leigh’s Kaz justice, so tell me if it’s out of character or anything. Also tell me if you want to be added to the taglist. A reminder this is insipred by my SoC DR so it’ll follow both the books and the show plotlines, there will be changes to the canon characters and their storylines, it’s also a Kaz Brekker x OC. | English isn’t my first language so please bear with me and tell me if there’s something wrong. I hope you like it.

all rights to leigh bardugo, i only owny liith and her backstory (other ocs will be introduced later)

Read other parts here: ch. 1 - ch. 2 - ch. 3 - Ch. 5 -  Ch. 6

CHAPTER 4

KAZ

The legends and myths whispered around the Barrel about Kaz Brekker were enough to keep everyone he’d meet on their toes, or so that’s what they’d all think. So many stories had been spread about his past, his family and where he’d come from, yet, only a small number of people knew that everything that was whispered in the streets of the city was wrong.

Myths, that’s what it all was, just myths, legends, stories. Every violent act was cautious, studied, every plan came with enough back plans to cover all the letters of the alphabet, twice.

The stale, humid autumn air filled the office, the light from the street lamps reflected off the glass creating dancing figures on the dark walls, the window was ajar a sign that the boy was waiting for news to arrive, he had sent the girl to gather information on Jellen Radmakker before the moon greeted them, he knew that the council's 'business' dinners usually lasted well into the night, which meant that the information would arrive just before dawn, he had other things to worry about, he couldn't waste time worrying about her.

A knock on the door distracted him from the papers and documents he'd spent hours studying, "Boss." Specht's voice surprised him, "What have you found out?" he asked motioning him to close the door behind him, "They've targeted a new shipment coming in at the end of the month, six grisha. They don't know the location or the exact day they'll arrive but they have an exclusive to buy them before anyone else does." Kaz sat behind his desk, hands clasped on his cane, his gaze fixed on the window. "OK." He simply said not shifting his gaze from the window, the older man knew not to expect a thank you, a good job, Kaz had never thanked or complimented anyone and yet Specht knew he had done a good job, he knew he was important in Kaz Brekker's gang and he didn't care to spend the rest of his life without a thank you or a good job, as long as he received his money he would accept whatever Kaz told him to.

The closed door of his office muffled the noises of the Club below him, he could vaguely hear the screams and cackles of the pigeons too drunk to realise how much they were losing, the blue eyed man wiped his hands before closing his shirt and putting on his gloves, gloves that were now a second skin to him, created especially for him, they had grown with him, they stood by him in all his jobs, every moment of his life had been lived by him as much as by his gloves. He knew he shouldn't compare his gloves to the girl's, but part of him knew he didn't deserve them, not when the girl had learned to live without hers.

He closed the door behind him, hiding the key in the pocket of his trousers, his injured leg hurting more than usual, reminding him of the past, reminding him of things he would like to forget.

The place was full, the line of customers waiting to get in was longer than usual, he noticed Big Bolliger at the door busy arguing with some waiting customers, Joe was busy pouring yet another drink for one of the players, satin clad women and girls were sitting on the laps of men old enough to be their fathers or rich enough to afford lovers in every corner of the city, just the thought of wanting to touch multiple people for sheer pleasure made Kaz's stomach turn, reminding him of how much experience he was losing, he shook his head, trying to banish the thought and concentrate on his Club, on his work, on what was really important, his Dregs, his employees were focused on their work, some were intent on shuffling their cards, ready to cheat yet another hand, others were moving like eels between tables bringing drinks to customers, his gaze studied the whole place, a part of him knew something was wrong when he noticed Jesper's absence, the Zemeni should have been guarding the door but the place was too quiet.

 "Jesper." He just said to Anika as he approached the bar, the boy's authoritative voice made the girl wince, the raven-haired girl's lips were twitching, her eyes used to travel to the boss's face were fixed on the bar behind him, "I don't know." she said before returning her focus to the drink in front of her, "Anika. " the girl's eyes tried not to look at the boss, to fixate on anything else, she had to tell him what was going on, but she didn't know if she was more scared of Kaz or Lilith and as much as she disliked the girl the fear she felt was stronger than the hatred and contempt; it was when she noticed Specht appearing in the doorway that her face betrayed her, Kaz's gaze shifted in the direction the girl was looking, Specht followed by a blonde girl dressed in red were running towards the stairs, it was not uncommon for one of the boys to bring a tourist or someone they met on the job into their room but Kaz knew that this girl was not there for Specht.

He tried to forget the pain in his leg as he followed the pair up the stairs, they passed the first floor confirming Kaz's theory, the blonde wasn't there for Specht, the blonde already knew where to go, skipping the last step of the third flight of stairs she headed to the left, ignoring all the doors, aiming for the last white door in the hallway.

"How is she?" She asked, opening the door and rushing in, "She keeps losing and regaining consciousness." Inej's voice sounded like a mirage, the neat, clean, white blankets of Lilith's bed were untidy beneath her body.

Kaz stood in the doorway, hands clenched on his cane, the metal began to cut through the leather of his gloves and the skin beneath them. In any other building in the world it would have been mistaken for an omen of death.

He forced himself to look at Lilith as Jesper helped the blonde tighten the bandages on Lilith's side.

Kaz shuddered as in his mind the image of Jordie appeared more vivid than ever, the feeling of his brother's cold, swollen skin against his own was drowning him. He was drowning in Jordie, in Lilith dying on the bed in front of him.

The blonde muttered to herself as she worked, one hand on Lilith's wrist and the other tight on the bandages on her side. Kaz watched her carefully and could see her counting Lilith's heartbeat as she tried to stop the bleeding.

That was why, when the blonde interrupted her mumbling and looked at Lilith, her eyes slowly widening, Kaz felt his own heart tremble and almost stop.

The blonde let go of Lilith's wrist, dropping her hand to the floor. She put her hands together, the first two fingers overlapping each other, before lowering them onto Lilith's chest. It was as if Kaz could feel Lilith's heart slowing instead of speeding up. He watched the blonde repeat the movements, determination, panic and fear visible on her face as her eyes began to glaze over.

Kaz swallowed and felt the ocean sweep over him again. He saw Lilith staring at him, dead and lifeless just like Jordie.

Her bright brown eyes were empty, dull.  

Inej was praying, clutching Lilith's wolf-bone daggers. Jesper was motionless, for the first time since he had met Kaz, his red eyes were fixed on the body of his best friend. Kaz saw the hope diminish in the blonde's eyes.

The blonde sobbed, repeating the movements again, she brought her hands to the brunette's chest, much more forcefully than she should have. She held them there, begging and pleading with the brunette's organs not to give up. To fight.

Second by second she felt the brunette's pulse start up again. The heartbreaker kept her hands still on Lilith's chest, terrified that if she took them away her pulse might stop again. Second by second the colour began to return to Lilith's face, allowing the blonde to sigh relieved and lower her tired head.

Inej released a sob, thanking and praying to her saints.

"Bandage her wound." Said the blonde to Jesper, noticing the boy's sly smile return to his face, the Zemeni took a bandage from one of the drawers behind them and knelt at Lilith's side pulling up her bloody shirt and gently resting the bandage on the wound, Kaz's eyes watched the scene, he hated everything that was happening in front of him, not just the wound, not just what that wound would stop Lilith from doing, he felt helpless, he knew he had to help her, he hated seeing Jesper do something he had promised her he would do.

"Lils, you shouldn't sleep on the job." Jesper's voice was broken, a mixture of happiness and concern. "Look who's talking." Kaz's eyes snapped to the girl, he had forced everyone back to work except for Inej and Jesper who had stood their ground and would not leave the room until Lilith woke up, and Milana, the heartbreaker who had sat at the foot of the bed and not moved for hours waiting for Lilith to wake up.

"Saints, Lils don't ever do that again." Said Inej hugging the younger one's neck, "I didn't want to be stabbed." replied the brunette returning the hug, "I did my best, please don't do anything too dangerous, even if it doesn't hurt. I know it will be difficult but please I don't want to see you in that condition again." "I'll try, I'm not promising anything." The two exchanged a knowing look, which did not go unnoticed by the other three Crows, before Milana got up and left the room, leaving the four Crows behind the closed door. "Do you know each other?" Jesper asked breaking the silence, "When you do our job you have to have connections." Answered Lilith leaning her back against the wall, the sun was rising illuminating the room, "I'm fine." assured the girl after a few minutes of silence, "If I find out you did this just to not feed my crows I swear on the Saints I will never forgive you." Inej said before following Jesper out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"I feel your disappointment on me." Said Lilith turning to look at Kaz, the boy was leaning against the dresser, his cane in front of him, his gloves resting on the wood to his right, "You didn't report after dinner." "Sorry next time I tell those perverts to let me report before attacking me." The sarcasm in the girl's voice would have carried serious consequences if it had come out of anyone else's mouth. "Is that all you're here for? To tell me I should have waited until I died to report?"

No. I’m here for the promise I made you long ago.

"No, I needed to know when you would be able to return to work." Kaz's face was serious, impassive, Lilith's was pale, a veil of disappointment so thin as to go unnoticed by the inexperienced eye, but Kaz was not inexperienced.

Tag list: @awkwardbean4337 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

[crow-caller]

Hey! I saw that you published some books (looking forward to checking them out, actually), but I was wondering how you did that? I'm not out of high school yet, but I've already finished my first draft of book one of my series, and have been working on editing and fixing up the second draft. I do have an editor, which is nice. I was wondering how you published? Any advice/ info would be greatly appreciated!

Hey, cool! My first book legit came out when I was still in high school.

I'm an indie author, so I'll talk about indie stuff... and traditional... and oh dear that's a lot.

Let's go over some pros and cons and what to expect.

Crow's (oops not) Quick Guide to Publishin'

Self Publishing:

This is what I did for Good Angel, Bad End, my duology!

Self pubbing:

+Total control of end product +No deadlines +Full control of changing it at any time -You do all the work (or pay) -It costs you money for jobs you can't (or shouldn't) do yourself like editing -Extremely limited reach of audience, very hard to sell

I queried GA/BE around a bit but ultimately decided to self publish it. It's just too niche for mainstream, being a weird genre mix up with way too queer characters. Multiple neopronouns used by funky angels in magic school slice of life that turns apocalyptic? yeah, I felt it'd be best I just put it out.

You'll need to

Edit the text (I'd recc multiple friends, a paid editor)

Proofread the text (I'd recc paying a pro)

Assemble the text files formatting (for digital, print)

Get a cover

Make pages for it on GoodReads etc and promote it

Self-publishing can be a lot of work. I did GA/BE's interiors myself using first Microsoft word, then adobe indesign for the recent revamp. Using Word/other text programs can give you a fully workable interior file, but abusing the free trial system of adobe will allow more advanced inclusions. Getting ebook files to work is a nightmare, and print can also be a pain- it's a lot of following online tutorials and trial and error I found. Calibre then is the program you use to finish digital files for release.

Costs for editing can be very high. Editing is a high skill, high time job- I got my books done on discount from a friend for next to nothing, but expect definitely a few hundred bucks. Research though fair prices. You don't need to hire someone to proofread or edit, but it is a good idea. That or outsource to many friends, ideally ones who give honest feedback. A proofreader is much cheaper as they only look for errors, I again got it cheap for 65£ per book. Art wise, I bought mine on commission- talk to an artist and make it clear it is for a commercial project and that you have the right to sell the end result. My cover for each book was about 100£

You might notice this is adding up to a few hundred quid, and yes: it cost me like, 350£ or so per book to publish, even with myself doing a lot of the work. This is a lot! Does it pay back? Usually no. I have at this point now "made a profit", but it took years. You can't typically go into self publishing looking for profit.

I really enjoy self publishing GA. It meant I could put a project out that I kinda only made for me, and have full rights to do whatever I want with it. I got to design the cover and choose what to do at every step... but it was a crazy amount of intensive work too. Marketing wise I've found is about impossible- your best bet 100% is to send the book to as many people as possible (digitally) for review and just try to get enough people reading it. Then you hope they like it and talk about it. I've found no other method of marketing particularly useful: word of mouth is still king.

Indie Publishing:

Indie pubbin:

+Don't have to spend any money (get paid) +Professional editing/cover/formatting +Backing of publishing house's marketing team -Deadlines -Less creative control -Contracted -Must query and be accepted

My first book was Angel Radio, which actually I sold when I was 17. came out when I was 18. The timescale for traditional publishing, even indie, is typically at least a year.

There's a lot of indie publishers out there, and we should read them more often. However, being published by an indie publisher (aka, a small, non-mainstream one- unlikely to ever be 'on shelves') takes extra, different work.

Do your research!!! There's a LOT of scam publishers out there. A publisher will never, ever, not even slightly ever, charge you money or pressure you to spend money (like buying your own copies of the book). A great way to check is to just look up 'publisher name + scam'.

Prepare a query letter. This is a pitch for your book, basic book info, and a bit about you. Every publishing house will have a 'submissions' page which explains specific wants (such as several pages of your book or a synopsis), so every application is slightly custom.

Query and wait. It takes many weeks to hear back with queries. Usually you should do them in small batches of like five. It's very rare to get a deal- it may not be your book, it might just be market trends or they already got a book about dragons on order.

DOUBLE CHECK YOUR CONTRACT. Contracts can be hard, so seek help if you want, though I've found my one contract to be not that long and readable. Still, you should always read a contract, especially as a scam publisher might try to trick you there.

Indie publishing is good because... it's more accessible and diverse than mainstream, but still offers the same benefits to authors. Just on a way smaller scale. I don't think my publisher, Harmony Ink Press, did much jack or shit for me marketing wise, and that's pretty typical. Marketing is very hit or miss and very expensive, so the onus is still on you to market (spoilers, these days marketing is on you no matter what). You also have more leeway in edits and covers- I designed AR's rough cover and worked with the artist directly! That's uncommon.

Most indie publishers also have a common royalty scheme where you pay it back. This isn't a hallmark of a scam, it's pretty normal: You get advance cash upfront, but then do not earn royalties until your book has paid itself off. Which it may not. Angel Radio sold for 500$, not a huge amount but not exactly tiny, especially for a teen. But I haven't earned a penny on royalties because it never sold well enough! I think I'm a little over halfway there.

Traditional Publishing

(I don't have a book of this type. yet...?)

Y'know, like, books?

+Large advance +Big support team +Marketing +Books on shelves +Most lucrative and recognizable -Sharper deadlines -Least control and rights -Must query (hardcore mode) -Still marketing yourself

Traditional publishing is the longest timescale and hardest method. Obvs. You again are looking to write a good query, but now you need to go through a literary agent. You query an agent with your book (again, should only ever be free), the agent then essentially queries publishers on your behalf ("out on submission"). An agent is your liaison to the business of publishing, taking a portion of your earnings for the service. You just can't make it into publishing without an agent.

A query letter ideally is... roughly, quickly, this is my format guide.

Hi there [actual agent name]

I'm here proposing my cool book, XYZ of ABC, a GENRE book of ??k words that IS SOMETHING UNIQUE SELLING POINT. MAIN CHARACTER is LIKE THIS but faced CONFLICT when PLOT HAPPENS, in SOME KINDA WORLD OR WHATEVER. THIS IS THE PART WHERE YOU WRITE A 2-3 SENTENCE PLOT BLURB. But when TWIST happens, will MC have SOME EYECATCHING IDEA? This book will appeal to fans of THIS KINDA THING and is extra good because RELEVENT DETAIL LIKE OWNVOICES. I believe JUST KEEP SELLING KID. I myself SOME SORT OF ACCOMPLISHMENT LIKE UNI, PAIRED WITH A RELEVANT HOBBY. thank you for your time

Hot and dirty, something like that. You gotta recall at all times this is a market. It is economic. Your passion... matters, but uh. It doesn't matter. Gosh that sounds rough. But make your passion clear but your sound business proposal clearer: You need to show why your book is worth picking over thousands of other queries.

Querying is a horrible torturous process that does help you slowly build up exposure therapy to rejection and failure. Anyways, that will take a bit typically (I've been querying on and off for ten years for an agent, but a lot has been 'off' time). Then you wait and eventually, bam! Probably post some edits, your book is sold.

You still wait a long time though, and have a lot of work to do. So much work. Your book will come out on shelves at the end, sure, but that's still not a promise of success. The author these days is especially the product, and while you start on a higher stage (maybe even the marketing team will f---ing do something), you still gotta claw. There's a high level of scrutiny too on debut authors on any tier, but especially the traditional publishing tier. So your success is very dependent on each book you do, with it being harder and harder to sell books if you aren't doing fantastic.

Still, it's hard to deny the appeal of that mainstream success. Man, I'm chasing it myself! But it's not just easy book out there you go. I'm pals with traditionally published authors and you'll still be very busy, if you can get your foot on the ladder with an agent to begin with. Being on submission generally takes months, and even when your book is with a publisher it may be a lot of time and work before it ever comes out. Even then, hitting the shelves still doesn't mean you're set for life.

Still. Good luck. Go try!

(BTW look at my books, I guess, as a sticker on what I hope is good advice, and good luck! I first decided to try publishing Angel Radio with HIP because of a post by someone else published by them on tumblr... like 10 years ago now....)

Gum ebook

Amaz print

Goodreads)

[hotforharrison]

Life has been kind of crazy in the worst possible way this month.

It feels like so much more than 3 weeks since the day I filed for divorce on July 1, which was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

I meant every word of my vows on that Thursday afternoon in September 2010 when my marriage began. I thought we were going to be each other's person for the rest of our lives, not for that to slip through my fingers because I was careless with his heart, and I can't put into words how deeply I regret it.

I never expected his embrace to hurt the way it does now, and the worst part of it is that he's the only one here to hug. He was the biggest source of my comfort for so many years, and even if he was here to hold me right now, it wouldn't be the same. What we had is completely gone.

It still kill me that I don't remember the last time we had sex, the last time we shared the bed we slept in together every night, and I woke up to him like I did so many times over the years.

He told me that we could have sex again on a friends with benefits basis, but I don't want to. It would destroy me.

Anyway, the power has been back on for a full week now after 8 days without in the godawful Texas summer heat, with only a few brief interruptions, mostly tonight when we had a thunderstorm.

We've spent the last week and a half, starting before the power even came back on, getting quotes from contractors for repairs for the extensive damages. The hurricane damages to the house I live in are in the tens of thousands of dollars.

(The house was downgraded from what was my home before my marriage ended because it feels like I'm surrounded by the devastating loss and ghosts of him and the love and life we shared for so long. It's agonizing just being here a lot of the time.)

We're not sure what the homeowners' insurance is going to cover for the repairs, which is terrifying, and we need to figure out how to work with FEMA if the insurance isn't helpful.

I'm also worried the HOA we're in will start giving us problems if we can't get the repairs done very quickly.

This month has been such shit in so many ways.

I desperately need my weekly counseling sessions, and my counselor cancelled this week. I've had only one of my weekly appointments this month due to cancellations and the hurricane, which is taking its toll on me.

In more positive and hopeful news, I had an appointment last Thursday with my job counselor at the state run employment program I was accepted into.

They'll pay fully for my schooling, textbooks, and supplies to get a degree or certificate from a local community college and offer job placement services after graduation.

I need a job I can do remotely, and I originally intended to pursue a year long certificate program in medical billing and coding. However, all of the local programs required on campus courses and capstones, which I cannot do.

I looked into every single fully online degree or certificate program that the local community colleges offered that aren't any longer than two years (my ex-husband agreed to let me stay here rent free for a few years while I get myself sorted) and settled on an Associate degree program in mobile/web application development.

I applied for the program today.

I wanted something with a decent level of job security, and I don't think phones are going anywhere. There's the possibility of freelance work on the side as well.

Considering and pursuing a career in technology is nothing new to me.

I went to a public university for an information technology program for 2 years after I graduated from high school, followed by a technical school for computer network operations for a year.

I never ended up working in the industry because it was saturated at my time of graduation, and they wanted me to have experience for an entry level position, which I found endlessly ironic.

I was told more than once by potential employers that I should have done an internship before I graduated to gain experience, which would have been fantastic to know while I was still in school and not with the days ticking down until I had to start repaying my student loans.

I desperately hope that I can transfer some of the roughly 20 year old credits over from the university I went to to cover the general education portion of the degree and maybe trim off a semester. (While technology absolutely has changed since the 2000s, some things haven't changed, like an introductory English or history course.)

[j-a-nuary]

Date Roulette: Jiyong

Tuesday

Intro Week Start

Seungri Week Start

Daesung Week Start

Taeyang Week Start

Seunghyun Week Start

Jiyong Week Start

Next

=====

Warning level: suggestive (higher end of suggestive)

=====

I woke up with my head smushed against Jiyong's shirt, and his arms wrapped tightly around my body. Which is to say: I woke up confused. I remembered everything, but I couldn't really make sense of it.

I was not the type to back down from a building argument. At least, I tried not to be. And kissing him again? I knew how I had gotten there, but in the light of day I just couldn't make the logic work out the same as it had last night.

But I could work that stuff out later. Right now, I had to peel a human banana clip off of myself and track down a production… assistant? Director? It occurred to me that I didn't actually know what Chul's job title actually was.

Again, not a priority at the moment.

I shook my head, trying to knock loose the cobwebs that had accumulated in there overnight. I immediately regretted the action as an invisible band tightened itself around my temples.

Muffling a groan, I rolled towards the edge of the bed, finding my escape from his clutches easier than I had expected.

Jiyong only let out a soft whine, but stayed asleep. I grabbed one of the pillows and pushed it towards his arms. He readily accepted it, pulling it into his body in a stranglehold.

=====

Once I was above deck, I located a staff person that I vaguely recognized. I had seen her around a few times, typically with an assortment of cords in her hands.

This morning however, she was leaning against a railing. In one hand she had some sort of snack bar, in the other she seemed to be scrolling through sns.

As I approached, she gave me an apologetic look - covering her somewhat full mouth and bowing. I waved a hand and shook my head, hoping I was coming off as nonchalant and not grimacing too much from the growing dizziness between my eyes.

"Sorry for interrupting," I started, "I just wanted to know if Chul is around."

"Mm," she paused, finishing chewing before continuing, "he's still downstairs. I guess he's got motion sickness pretty bad."

"Ah," I frowned, "I was hoping to talk to him before everything really got started today."

"Hmm…" she looked a little unsure.

"Please."

After a second, she nodded. "I'll show you," she offered.

I followed her back below deck.

=====

The room was smaller. Substantially so. Obviously meant as staff quarters.

It annoyed me, but I figured I'd gone on enough anti-capitalist tangents before. Besides, if Chul wasn't feeling well there was no reason for me to bring more negativity to him.

I also had something more urgent to address.

Chul looked like shit. He was rumpled. Hair stuck out at odd angles, wrinkled clothes, and that wince of illness. He was busy shaking some tablets onto his hand.

"Hey," I took a seat on an empty bunk, "anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head, wincing again.

"I've got dramamine and pain killers," he huffed, "I'll live. What's up?"

I sunk into myself slightly, feeling a little guilty that I was - once again - coming to him for a favor.

"I…" I paused as another staffer came in for a moment. They grabbed a bag and left without a word. Wordlessly, Chul handed me the bottle of pills. Taksen. I took two, nodding in thanks as he handed over a bottle of water as well.

I waited an extra second after swallowing the pills before starting again.

"I'm worried about this week."

Chul nodded, silently urging me to continue.

"I woke up and…" I blinked, brows dipping as I thought it over again, "I can't make sense of last night."

"Yeah," he agreed, "I didn't expect you two to get over things so quickly."

"Exactly!" I nodded - ignoring the headache, "it's like Ji… he just knows how to get past my guard somehow."

Chul hummed, a thoughtful look taking over his features.

"But… what does this have to do with me?" He asked.

"I… I don't know. I just wanted…" I frowned. What did I want? Someone to keep an eye on me? Someone to talk to?

"I just wanted to know if I was crazy or not for thinking it was strange."

He laughed. Not at me. More of a what can I say sort of laugh.

"The whole thing is strange. Has anything happened to you this last month that isn't strange?"

I rolled my eyes, huffing at him and crossing my arms.

"Okay," I conceded, "but this is extra strange. I couldn't stand his jealousy, but one conversation later I let him sleep in my bed?"

Chul lifted an eyebrow, teasing me.

"Shut up," I snapped, "nothing happened. Just sleep."

He shook his head, raising his hands as if showing his innocence.

"But it's still weird!" I pushed. "I remember the conversation. That one bit shouldn't have been enough."

He sighed, shrugging.

"This whole thing between you two has been a roller coaster. Maybe this is just another up."

I groaned, but didn't speak. He had something close to a point.

"You just have to survive a few days. Tomorrow is a group day, then Sunday as well."

"You know that this won't just end on Sunday," I grumbled.

"True," he leaned forward, patting my knee reassuringly, "but we can worry about that next week. For now, let's just focus on today."

"Fine," I agreed, "but just…"

I stumbled over my words again.

Luckily, Chul knew what I was getting at.

"Hey, I can always make up some technical interruption if you need me to. Not forever, but for five minutes at least."

I nodded. Standing up, I placed a hopefully not overly familiar hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you Chul," I squeezed his shoulder slightly, "seriously."

He nodded.

=====

I had hoped that Jiyong would be gone by the time I returned to my cabin. Or at least still dead asleep. Instead he sat up when I entered, pouting over my pillow at me.

I froze, just for a second. Thankfully, he seemed sleepy enough to have missed it.

"You left me alone," he croak-whined.

"I figured you could use the sleep," I shrugged. I sat on the edge of the bed and hauled my backpack from where I had stashed it on the little armchair yesterday.

His pout stayed in place as he shoved the pillow behind himself and lifted his arms towards me.

"Come back to me, my love."

I cringed at the endearment. It sounded hollow somehow.

"Luna?"

I looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyebrows were drawn together, and he appeared to be giving me a thorough looking over.

"Hmm?"

He didn't immediately answer. Instead, he sat up and leaned forward. Supporting himself on his knees and one hand, he reached forward and pushed the hair out of my face.

"Are you not feeling well? I'm sure I have medicine or something with me."

I shook my head, pulling away from his hand.

"No," I turned my attention back to my bag, "I already got something from Chul."

Jiyong crawled forward, invading the space next to me.

'What did he give you?"

I shrugged, still searching through my bag. "Just something for my headache. You know how it i- Ah there it is!"

I held my toothbrush aloft in triumph.

Jiyong smiled, presumably at my antics, but continued his questioning.

"But what specifically?"

"Why does it matter?" I retorted, moving towards the ensuite so I could finally brush my teeth. I laughed at Jiyong's expression, now looking extra concerned. "I doubt he'd try to drug me or something."

"Of course," he nodded slowly, "he'd have to be a psycho to do something like that."

He moved awkwardly, getting himself untangled from the bed so he could follow me.

"Still," he took up residence behind me now, sneaking a hand around my stomach as I brushed my teeth, "it might react poorly with that tea."

I rolled my eyes at him through the mirror. I felt crowded, but resisted the urge to push him away. Maybe it was the… was this a hangover? PMS? Regardless, there was an uncomfortable feeling lingering through my body that I couldn't help interpreting as danger.

Jiyong took my lack of rejection as encouragement. He hooked his chin on my shoulder and lifted his free hand to brush my hair back from my face.

"I want to make sure that you're safe, my love."

That was going to get real old, real fast.

I shrugged myself from his clutches, spitting and rinsing my mouth before speaking.

"It was just Taksen," I turned to face, fixing what I felt was the fakest smile I had ever worn onto my face, "I'm sure I'll be fine Ji."

=====

We had lunch on the boat, a vegetarian take on naengmyeon.

"You know," I broke a not quite awkward silence as we ate, "I used to hate soup."

Jiyong looked up from his dish, frowning slightly.

"I'm sure they could make something else."

"No," I shook my head, "this is fine. I just was against soup on principle."

Jiyong blinked, squinted, and finally placed his elbow onto the tabletop and his chin into his palm.

"On principle."

It wasn't exactly a question, but it was clear he wanted further information.

"Well," I lifted my spoon, observing its contents closely. After a moment, I downed the liquid before continuing. "Soup is different back home." I held the spoon up, now watching the way the sunlight reflected off its surface.

Jiyong patiently watched my antics.

"Mostly it just seemed like someone made a meal and then," I shrugged, "decided to put it in water."

Jiyong looked down at his own bowl, brows drawing together as he considered the food before him.

"How is that different than this?"

I shrugged again. "Soup here seems to be done on purpose."

His frown deepened for a moment. Then, after shaking his head, he burst out laughing.

"What?" I asked, unable to remain serious in the face of his outburst, "what's so funny?"

"I just," he shook his head again before leaning forward and resting his chin in his palm, "never know what you're going to say next."

A month ago - hell even a week ago - I would have expected that sentiment to be accompanied by a frown. Disapproval of what and how I choose to be. Now however…

He seemed to have forgotten his food, simply gazing at me with something like wonder writ across his face.

"Eat," I nodded towards his bowl.

His smile deepened. Shaking his head, his lips parted to speak.

"I-"

"Don't tell me you're full by watching me," I cut him off. "You need to eat."

He let out an abrupt laugh, but lifted his spoon regardless.

=====

I wasn't sure if it was exactly typical for yachts to pull up on Sindo. From what I could see, the boat that we were on was the only non-ferry visible. There was some discussion between pier staff, show staff, and even Jiyong himself at one point, before we were able to fully… park? I made a mental note to look up proper boating terminology.

Something about the way that Jiyong returned from the conversation sent a flag up in my mind. He looked sheepish, but happy - victorious, but a little shy. He had a bounce in his step that translated to his silly straw sun hat flopping slightly as he approached.

He looked like a dad on vacation that had just gotten a bargain.

"Is everything okay?" I asked as soon as he was close enough to talk to.

"Yes," he quickly answered. "I just have to, ah…" that slightly embarrassed look replaced his smile for a second.

"You didn't bribe them, did you?"

He laughed, but didn't answer. Not directly anyway.

"The manager's wife is a fan," he explained. "I just offered to sign a picture."

I squinted at him, trying to play up my disapproval.

"Jagi~," he stepped closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, "I got us a spot, right?"

I pursed my lips, letting out a "hmmph" noise.

"I did well," he wiggled my shoulders back and forth, teasing, "right jagiya?"

"I guess it's okay," I gave him a sidelong look, "as long as we're not breaking a law or anything."

A slightly confused look took over his features for a moment as he tilted his head.

"I don't think so," he murmured, "even if there is one, it will only be a fine."

I sighed deeply, remembering a phrase that my friends back home and I used to say pretty often: 'Punishable by a fine' just means 'legal for rich people.'

=====

We navigated renting some scooters, including two bigger ones that were more like golf carts for the staff and their gear, and headed out. It was already near noon when we had arrived, so we stopped in a small cafe for something to eat before heading towards Modo.

It was something like a break, but not really. Jiyong had suggested we share a scooter, but I had wanted a little bit of extra freedom.

"Think of the show," Jiyong pouted.

"I am," I countered. "Just imagine how fun it will be for the audience when I inevitably run off on my own and you have to chase me down."

I heard Chul snort out a laugh somewhere off camera at that.

"My love," Jiyong's pout deepened, "think of the way their hearts will flutter when you put your hands around my waist."

I shook my head, rolling my eyes for good measure.

"That's actually dangerous. If anything I'd have to grab your hips or shoulders," I shrugged. "Holding your waist messes with your center of balance."

The pout was gone. In its place was a blank stare, seasoned by a few blinks.

In the end, I allowed him to "convince" me. Truth be told, I was beginning to have a headache again, and I figured I might be better off if I let him "drive". I also begged another painkiller off Chul, who made a point of holding the back of his hand to my forehead and squinting at my eyes and hands.

"Do I pass the inspection?"

Chul's eyes narrowed, "for now. Here."

With that, I was handed a tablet, a bottle of water, and a helmet before settling in behind Jiyong on the little moped.

=====

The air on my face felt nice, doing a little bit to clear the ache in the center of my forehead. It also helped that most of what I could smell was salt, mud, and algae. I breathed deep, shutting my eyes to block any potential motion sickness from compounding the horrendously loud pounding of blood in my ears.

I was a little disappointed at missing most of the view while we rode. I had searched the island online when the plan was initially proposed and knew that I was surrounded by greenery and farms. I hoped I'd be able to see them on the way back.

At first, I was a little bitter about going to Modo with Jiyong. It was on my list, buried in my liked photos on my private Instagram. Somehow, I doubted Jiyong knew that though. Much more likely was the chance that he simply looked up day trips on the islands and things to do.

Not that that was a bad approach. I had simply been spoiled by Seunghyun and Daesung's attentiveness.

I allowed myself a moment of malcontent before convincing myself not to let petty details ruin Baemikkumi for me.

Getting an afternoon snack also helped. I excused myself to the bathroom after ordering, taking an extra moment to pat some cool water over my face and neck. The day was hot, extra humid due to being on the series of islets.

It also gave me a moment to respond to messages that I had been ignoring.

From: Hugeboy Any clarity on that mysterious situation you were in? σ(^_^;)? From: Hugeboy Ah… I know you're probably just busy but still it feels a bit… From: Hugeboy I want to call you From: Hugeboy But I don't want to be a bother From: Hugeboy I miss you ｡･(つд`｡)･｡ From: Hugeboy Maybe I should be embarrassed about saying that From: Hugeboy No! I don't care if it's embarrassing! From: Hugeboy I! Miss! You! ♡♡♡♡♡ (*T^T)

I couldn't help but to half smile, half pout, at his messages. Reading back over them I couldn't help but feel a little bad about not having responded. Still, I supposed I had a pretty good reason. At least on Sunday.

To: Hugeboy Would you believe me if I said I miss you too? To: Hugeboy I had a sort of… medical issue?? To: Hugeboy Nothing serious. Just stress. To: Hugeboy Honestly, I think I'm still recovering.

For perhaps the second time ever, he didn't instantly respond. Well, that's only fair. I checked my other messages.

From: Zico You know what I'm going to say, right? ㅋㅋㅋ From: Zico I think he's really lost it this time From: Zico Seriously… are you a witch or something? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

That last message had been accompanied by a blurry video of what appeared to be Mino. He sat with his phone in his hands, staring at it with an obvious pout on his lips. I couldn't truly make out what he was saying, but I could tell it was something like:

"... doesn't… nothing…"

A few seconds before the video ended, a new message came in from Zico.

From: Zico

I would ask why Mino just texted me asking for advice on playing it cool, but I think I already know the answer.

I snorted a laugh and quickly typed a reply.

To: Zico Why should he start now?

To: Hugeboy I like that you're embarrassing~~ ♡ To: Hugeboy Better to be embarrassing and real than to be cold and uncaring From: Hugeboy Fine! I miss you more than makes sense (*T^T) From: Hugeboy When can I see you? To: Hugeboy I don't know. I'm sorry. From: Hugeboy It's not your fault ＼(_ _) To: Hugeboy Still… To: Hugeboy I have to go. I'll message you again soon I promise.

With that, I clicked my phone back to locked, and headed back outside.

=====

Jiyong insisted we rehydrate, a set of iced teas mixed with fruit juice already on the table when I returned.

"Making sure to take care of me?" I teased him.

"I always take care of you."

At Jiyong's suggestion, plenty of photographs were taken. Primarily of me. I did offer a few times to take pictures of him, but he'd simply shake his head and say he had enough photos of him to last a lifetime.

That seemed both reasonable and a little unfair. Not to him. He was right. Nobody needed more photos of him. But it was unfair to put me in the spotlight with so little warning.

Once we were in the park, it was every few minutes with him. He'd point at something and ask me to pose next to it. As if I knew the first thing about posing.

I tried to push the negativity out of my mind. For years I had been the photographer for my friends. Ninety percent of the photos that existed of me were mirror selfies, or taken using a makeshift tripod and the timer function. I took a moment to be grateful for the influx of proof of life provided over the last few weeks.

Besides, the picture of me being held in giant metal hands did come out nicely.

=====

Just a short while later, Jiyong was sulking.

Well, not actually. He was playing it up for sympathy, scowling as the yacht pulled closer to the dock on the mainland. I pretended that I hadn't noticed.

"It's a shame," I said as casually as I could.

I was rewarded with shining puppy eyes from Jiyong.

"We didn't even get a chance to go into the ocean water this whole time."

Jiyong grimaced. Obviously, this was not what he had been hoping to hear. No doubt he would have liked for me to say I wished we could spend another night on the boat. Or perhaps that I didn't want to return to the house.

Truth be told, I was itching to get into the giant tub in my room. I couldn't wait to stretch out in a familiar bed again.

But the summer sun was still well above the horizon, so I was willing to bet that the approaching dock was not the end of the day.

=====

We ended our day at a bar masquerading as a barbecue restaurant. Nothing fancy, thank god. Just a little meat, a few vegetables, and a small gas fire to cook them over.

And soju.

Of course soju.

I contemplated the mushroom tipped shaft before me, pretending to ignore the shot that Jiyong had placed beside my plate.

"Come on," he whined slightly, meat tongs now back in hand. "Don't make me drink alone."

I sighed, biting the earthy brown cap off the skewer in my hand before turning to down the drink.

"That's my girl."

I made a point of rolling my eyes at his words. He just laughed and tossed back his own drink.

He's in a good mood. We had been in that weird confrontation for so long that I had forgotten about this version of him. Relaxed, happy, not mistaking jokes for attacks - this was the version of him I had fallen for in those early days.

"Hey."

I blinked, shaking my head slightly as I came back into the moment. The cup next to my plate was full again. I reached out to take it, but two fingers fell across the top to stop me. Looking up, I saw Jiyong watching me with that soft look he had been wearing for the last two days.

"Where'd you go?"

The seat I was in didn't really have a back to it, otherwise I would have leaned back. As it was, I supported myself with an elbow on the edge of the table.

"I was just thinking. About the beginning."

A moment of silence passed between us then. For me, it was reflective. For him… well…

He shook himself out of it and set the food aside so it didn't burn. After making sure everything was safely set, he sat down facing me. He shuffled to the edge of his seat and reached forward to grab the legs of mine to pull me closer.

"What?" It felt like a reasonable enough question.

"It can be like that again, jagiya."

He picked up my hand from the table, winding it into his own. His thumb brushed over my fingers for a moment before he pulled my palm to his cheek. Quickly, he pressed a kiss against my hand before securely holding it against his skin.

"I can make it like that again," he stared, an intensity that made my skin flush but also crawl.

"Ji," I tried to pull my hand away.

"No," he renewed his grip, pressing another kiss against my fingers before continuing, "I'll do whatever I need to do to make you realize that it should be me."

I experience an odd mix of reactions to that. My neck tensed, hairs prickling up off my skin as if his words had sent a cold breeze across my back. I felt goosebumps raise over my arms.

On the other hand, my stomach swooped and fluttered. A warmth spread down from my gut, part of my body clearly reacting well to the earnestness of his words.

"Just let me prove it to you this week."

=====

I silently wished that we had taken one of the company cars to the pier yesterday. Not necessarily one of the giant vans, but just something with another driver. A chaperone.

As we hadn't, I was stuck in Jiyong's car with him. Not that I thought he'd do anything too scandalous. There were still cameras in his car after all.

No, it was a more internal issue than that. With an external cause. That I was internally incapable of solving.

Jiyong's hand was on my thigh.

Which was fine. It was fine. It was a respectful enough distance between my knee and my hip. It was simply resting there, largely inactive save for a few swipes of his thumb over my skin. It was fine. I could deal with this.

Except for that gut churning warmth from before that was still sitting behind my waistband. Except for the tell-tale sensation of my body preparing itself for something that it was not going to get.

But it was nice. In a way.

I glanced at Jiyong, which may have been a mistake. I don't like to think of myself as being shallow but good lord the budding tension would be easier to prune back if he wasn't so fucking pretty.

=====

Finally we were back home, as much as that word meant anything anymore.

I was glad to be back in the house. I tried to remember where I was in my cycle. Had I last had my period during Seungri's week? Maybe it had been Daesung's? It wasn't totally out of the question that my hormones were simply amped up.

It usually wasn't this noticeable though. I was overtly aware of the wetness between my legs. Every step I took was accompanied by a naggingly persistent glide of self-lubricated flesh.

In a number of different situations, it would be titillating. In this one it was almost concerning.

"I'm going to head to bed," I was perhaps a bit curt with my words, but I was aching to get into the bathroom and clean myself up.

"Are you feeling okay?" Genuine concern filtered through Jiyong's words.

Maybe I wasn't doing as good of a job covering as I had thought.

"I'm fine," I cleared my throat. Doing my best not to meet his eye, I came up with a weak excuse. "I'm just tired from traveling and everything."

In the periphery of my vision, I was aware that he was nodding. I pretended to focus on putting my shoes away neatly.

"Jagi," his hand found my wrist, "I…"

I forced myself to meet his eye. He really was so fucking pretty.

I wasn't aware that my mouth had opened until I felt his thumb brush over my bottom lip. When had his hand reached my face?

Against my better judgment, my tongue dipped out - primarily to wet my lips, but incidentally lapping at his skin.

He even tasted pretty.

This close, I could see the blemishes underneath his makeup.

"Oh you guys are back."

Jiyong pulled away from me, scalded by embarrassment or annoyance.

Taeyang stood in the openway, in all the glory of what I was sure was one half of a matching couple's pajama set, holding a glass of water. His eyes shifted between the two of us. There may as well have been chemical formulas flying around his head with how hard he was staring at us.

Good lord I was glad to see him. His presence had been exactly the shock I needed to escape whatever was going on with me. Hormones, alcohol… whatever it was, I was glad for the distraction.

"I'll go first," I mumbled, carefully avoiding touching either of them as I moved.

=====

My body bounced with the force I had thrown myself at the mattress. The inspection I had given myself in the shower had confirmed what I already knew. I debated texting Daesung, weighing the chances of us somehow getting caught. Typically I'd have no problem staying quiet, but with how amped up I was… there was really no telling.

Though I had teased him about tying him to the bed. What better time to try it than ri-

My thoughts were cut off by a tapping at the glass doors. Scrambling for decency's sake, I retracted my hand that had been making its way between my legs of its own accord. I tightened my robe around myself before pulling the curtain aside just enough to see who was there.

I was greeted by raised eyebrows paired with one hand holding a bottle, and the other holding a pair of wine glasses. The eyebrows jumped comically. Laughing, I took a step back and unlocked the door to pull it open.

"I thought you might need to debrief."

I shrugged, making my way to the seat by the vanity.

"It's legitimately strange how well you know me sometimes."

Seunghyun just smiled as he toed off his shoes and slid the door shut behind him. After being prompted by a pointed nod from me, he made sure the curtains were back in place as well - a shield for our private conversations.

"I heard he took you on a boat," Seunghyun stated it like a fact, but I could tell he wanted confirmation.

I hummed, watching him uncork the bottle and pour us both a glass. His fingers were deft and swift. They moved with confidence through the series of motions.

"-by? Yah…"

I shook my head, pulling myself back to the moment.

"Sorry," I frowned, "what were you saying?"

He chuckled, holding a glass out towards me. I stood to take it, standing perhaps a little closer to him than was absolutely necessary.

He held his glass towards me. Raising my own, I lightly tapped it against his.

He gave me a pointed look.

"No," I said, "you should drink first oppa."

He raised an eyebrow at that, but he also raised his glass. After allowing him to take his time to taste the wine and swallow, I spoke up again.

"How is it?"

"Jammy," he said after considering his words carefully, "a little tart. Not bad."

I hummed.

He had to have known what I was doing. No way was I subtle about it.

He didn't stop me though.

I couldn't really make out such details that would lead to the descriptor of "jammy", but I could taste the remnants of sweetness and sourness well enough on his tongue.

After a moment I pulled away. Lifting my hand, I thumbed away an invisible droplet from his lips. The thumb was then placed against my own, my tongue coming out to taste it in a much more acceptable adaptation of the earlier moment with Jiyong.

Trained as they were on his face, it didn't escape my eyes the way Seunghyun's attention was locked onto the movement.

"Put that away before you cause trouble," his voice sounded strained when he spoke.

"Hmm…" I smiled up at him, "don't want to."

He took a moment to carefully place both of our glasses further back on the vanity. Straightening up afterwards, he took another moment to look me over. One of his arms looped around my back, pulling me close as his eyes ran over my face, neck, and assorted other spots of exposed skin.

Eventually, his eyes landed back on mine.

"How are you feeling?"

What a loaded question. I had already been fighting a losing battle against an unexpected wave of arousal when he showed up. I was a little embarrassed that all thoughts of Daesung had been pushed from my mind until this exact moment. That of course led to a brief detour into shame. That particular spiral was then cut short by how good Seunghyun's fingers felt on my skin when he reached up to brush my hair from my face.

His stern features were soft. It was a look that I kept seeing from him more and more often. A look I could see myself getting used to.

A look that simplified my answer.

"Good."

He nodded, serious as ever.

"A little more…" I tilted my head, thinking of how to describe it, "awake than I expected," I admitted.

There was a moment then. We both seemed to be waiting for something, but I didn't know what that might be.

It turned out to be my tongue. Once again, I slid it over my lips. More from nerves than anything else.

Seunghyun dropped his head slightly to press his lips against mine.

I hoped he wouldn't hold the sound I made against me. It was embarrassing enough just to have such a strong reaction to him. My head spun, thinking about the ups and downs of our dynamic over the last month. Or maybe it was from the kiss itself.

We had kissed before. Obviously. But this was different. This was a fight against a riptide, and I was more than willing to drown.

"Baby," Seunghyun was mumbling against my lips.

I groaned, annoyed at the attempted interruption.

"Baby."

He forced us apart this time. It was like he was determined to ruin the vibe.

"What?" I couldn't help the annoyed tone that slipped into my voice.

Confusion flashed over his face for a moment before he hardened his gaze.

"What happened?"

I blinked. I was not following his train of thought at all.

"What… you mean with Jiyong?"

He nodded, solemnly watching me.

"Nothing," I shrugged. "We went on a boat, we went to a sculpture park, we…"

I cut myself off. Did it really matter? A momentary lapse in judgment in a yacht hot tub with a man who was functionally my ex?

"Baby," softer this time, "you don't have to hide anything from me."

"We…" I huffed, then started again, "I…"

Seunghyun maneuvered the both of us, moving so he could sit at the vanity and pull me onto his lap.

"Take your time."

I let him pull me into him. Resting my head against his shoulder, reveling in the feeling of his hands soothing down my back. Breathing deeply, I could smell some faint cologne struggling to cover up that ever present tobacco scent that clung to him.

"It's stupid." I was pouting again, but trying not to let it color my voice too much. I'd much rather go back to the kissing than talk about how Jiyong could seemingly climb inside my skull at will.

"What is?"

"Me," I moved against him, getting my head into a more comfortable position. If that position also put me in closer reach of teasing his neck and ear… he didn't seem to notice, "probably."

"We both know that's not true," he laughed.

I didn't protest, but I didn't agree either. Instead, I simply sighed heavily, trying to sneak my lips onto where I could feel his pulse in his neck.

"Baby," he gently admonished me. His hands pulled me upright to meet his eyes again. "You know I'd love to keep going, but you also know this is a coping mechanism."

I rolled my eyes, "don't pretend you know me better than I know myself."

That got a reaction out of him.

His hand raised, tightly gripping my chin so there was no way I could look away again.

"Listen to me baby," his voice had gone deep with the intensity of his message, "I would have no issue fucking you until you couldn't walk, if that's what you truly wanted."

Another embarrassing sound eked its way up my throat and out from between my lips.

Seunghyun paused his lecture to kiss me, rougher than I had expected. He bit my lower lip, pulling a groan from me as he pulled back.

"However," he shook my chin slightly, demanding my attention raise from his lips to his eyes again, "I will only do so when I am one hundred percent certain that it is what you want and not just a distraction."

What was there for me to do besides blink? And after that, what option did I have but to start crying?

"Baby," he dropped his grip from my chin and tugged me against his body in a tight hug. "Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. I'm sorry baby. Please don't cry."

"I… I just don't understand…" I sobbed, embarrassment no longer a concern. "How…. He… Ji…"

"Deep breath baby," he crooned into my ear. He started rocking slightly, obviously going all out in his attempt to comfort me. "Breathe for me. You have all night to tell me what happened."

I'm sure all eloquence was lost as I tried to explain through unintelligible sobs and the deep breaths that Seunghyun would occasionally remind me to take, but eventually I was able to explain my concerns. At least to the point that Seunghyun eventually started telling me that I didn't need to explain anymore.

"It's okay, baby," his voice was low, quietly reassuring me, "I understand."

"The worst part is I don't even know why I care," I whined, "I just want him out of my head."

By now, we had made our way onto my bed. Seunghyun laid on his side, arms pulling me protectively into his chest while I had rambled out my complaints.

"Just being around him is like getting drunk," I mumbled. "I feel defenseless."

"You-"

A knock on the glass doors interrupted him. He frowned, looking down at me questioningly.

"Did you invite Daesung down?"

I shook my head, nerves twisting my gut.

"Maybe he want-"

My text tone interrupted me. Shuffling to free my hand from between Seunghyun's and my bodies, I turned to grab it from where I had dropped it on the mattress earlier.

From: Llyong Boho Awake?

I shut my eyes, holding my phone up for Seunghyun to see. I felt the soft vibration of another message coming in while he looked at the screen.

Seunghyun's jaw tightened. He took the phone from my hand and sat up.

"Don't…"

He leaned down to press a kiss against my forehead.

"I'm not going to message him. Just wait here for a moment, okay? I'll tell him you're sleeping."

I nodded, wondering why he looked so tense.

He stood up and ran his hands through his hair a few times. Back and forth, messing it up and then smoothing it back. After a second he undid the buttons of his shirt, all of them undone before he misbuttoned one near the middle. He paused for half a second. Nodding to himself, he then took his belt off. He let the leather strap land on my floor before he turned his attention back to me.

"Unlock your phone."

I pressed my thumb against the fingerprint reader and handed it over to him.

"Thank you baby. Pull the blanket over yourself, okay?"

I did as he asked, going as far as turning to face away from the sliding doors so Jiyong wouldn't see my face.

I heard the plastic rattling sound of the curtain runners, followed by the whooshing noise of the sliding door opening.

"What do you need?"

"What are you doing here?"

The crunching of gravel, followed by the whoosh of the door. I assumed Seunghyun had stepped outside.

It was a little disappointing to not be able to hear the conversation. However, I could appreciate not being drawn into it at all.

After maybe fifteen minutes, there was that whoosh yet again. I felt my body tense up.

"Baby?"

I relaxed, turning over to look up at Seunghyun. He gave me a small smile.

"He went back upstairs."

I nodded, "you didn't have to do that."

He placed my phone on the bedside table before unbuttoning his shirt again.

"I know, but I'd rather I deal with him than make you do it."

He moved as he spoke, draping his shirt over the seat by the vanity before turning back towards me. He nodded at the space next to me on the bed.

"Can I?"

Rather than answer, I simply opened my arms towards him.

His smile was wider this time, as he bent down to crawl up the mattress and over my body.

Supporting himself on his knees and forearms, he brushed his nose along my neck. It was followed by his lips pressing against my jaw.

"Hyun…" I sighed out his name as what had started as me baring more of my neck towards him turned into a stretch.

"Yes?" He asked, pulling away to watch me.

I traced my fingertips over his ribs and onto his back, pouting slightly. "Don't stop."

He moved, working one of his knees between mine and coming in for a kiss.

Just shy of my lips, he spoke again.

"I'm still not going to fuck you tonight."

I whined, digging my nails into his back to further express my annoyance.

He laughed, leaning onto his side slightly so he could run a hand down the side of my body.

"If you need me that badly," he paused to kiss my cheek lightly, "there are other things I can do."

His fingers paused, dipped just slightly under the waistband of my pajama shorts.

"Would you like that baby?"

[plovton]

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬   𝐨𝐟   ┊  𝑇ℎ𝑒  𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡  𝑜𝑓  𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠,  𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ  𝑎𝑛𝑑  𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ,  𝑑𝑖𝑚𝑙𝑦  𝑙𝑖𝑡  𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑠,  ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑦  𝑐𝑜𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑  𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠,  𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠  𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡  𝑔𝑜  𝑏𝑢𝑚𝑝  𝑖𝑛  𝑡ℎ𝑒  𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡,  𝑡ℎ𝑒  𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑒  𝑜𝑓  𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠,  𝑎  𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟  𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔  𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑝  𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑡ℎ  𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑝𝑒𝑟  𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠  &  𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑙𝑦  𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡  𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑠.

★ | #𝙋𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙏𝙊𝙉  | selective      &      mutually      exclusive      HADES      from      GREEK      MYTH      inspired      by      various      media      and      literature      interpretations      which      are      reimagined      to      fit      into      a      more      modern      world.  This      blog      is      loosely      inspired      by      dark      fantasy,  gothic      horror,    retellings of   mythology      &     folklores.

PROMO ✦ CARRD ✦ AES

⸺ MINORS DNI. This blog is not suitable for all ages. I only write with 21+ writers. Initiated and honed circa winter 2024. ➥ Worshipped by Nox .

Carrd isn't quite ready, I am in the position of getting it ready for this account. For now, I have listed rules for your accessibility.

OOC : Lets cover this first, this is a SAFE PLACE, so HOMOPHOBIA , TRANSPHOBIA & RACISM of any kind will NOT be tolerated under ANY CIRCUSTANCES. You will be BLOCKED. MUN goes by Nox, is 29 years old apart of the LGBTQIA+ community and uses HE/HIM PRONOUNS. THIS IS A MATURE BLOG MINORS DNI! PREFERS TO WRITE/ INTERACT WITH 21+ MUNS.

SELECTIVITY / FOLLOWING : I’m SELECTIVE & PRIVATE. I roleplay for fun and it will never be an obligation, so if I would like to stop writing with you or if I’m no longer feeling it please don’t take it personally. NOT only that but due to the nature of this portrayal, I might not always follow you back. Give me time firstly, I usually will look through your blog before deciding on whether it's "safe." I'm open to roleplaying with just about anyone but being that this is a PRIVATE BLOG, I do only follow those I want to write with or see myself writing with.

SHIPPING : I ship with chemistry, NSFW content or SMUT isn’t necessary. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM SENDING RP ASKS THAT ARE OF THAT NATURE. They will likely be ignored or responded to in a non-romantic platonic way. I do not accept those sorts of ASKS UNLESS A CONNECTION HAS BEEN ESTABLISHED. I am currently not looking for any kind of ships, but am highly affiliated with @thewhitemaiden and my storylines are interwoven with hers.

DISCORD : Discord is for mutuals only and will be given ( if asked) after we have begun writing, discussing or at least interacting somewhat. I don't feel comfortable giving my discord out to someone I don't know, as I use my discord for other purposes other than writing.

TRIGGER WARNINGS : My muse can be triggering for many, I will do my best to tag any and all content I find to be possible TRIGGERING CONTENT. I HAVE MENTIONED THIS THROUGH MY BLOG. MATURE THEMES are to be EXPECTED, Due to the nature of my muse. I will only write with AGE CONSENTED ADULTS. THEMES to mention through blog as whole : *Drug and Alcohol use, Substance Abuse, Violence, Explicit Language, Death, Killing, Blood - Gore.

STYLE : I'm a MULTI-PARA writer, I use GIF / ICON, small text, italic and BOLD lettering when writing but I don’t expect others to do the same. I'm lazy and sometimes you might find my post not having anything, I pick and chose when to colorize. PLEASE do not feel as if you have to style your writing or even use icons. I don't care I'm just super OCD and have a preference for my writing.

ACTIVITY : My time online is low to med activity, Sometimes my responses are SLOW I work a FULL TIME JOB and don't always have the time MENTAL ENERGY to be online. My muse can be very fickle. I work throughout the week with having weekends off, so most times you will catch me online readily available, if my energy and muse cooperates. During the week (due to other responsibilities and obligations),  those days I have little capacity to get anything done when it comes to WRITING / PRODUCTIVITY.

DASH THINGS : I like my dash to clear of SPAM, you can post what you want but it's my decision whether or not I want to see it. Another thing, I will likely unfollow if you post EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS NUDE OR PORNOGRAPHIC IMAGES/GIFS. I'm all for nsfw content to a degree, but content like that I really don't care for it on a writing platform. I write to WRITE, if it's concealed in links that's fine, but out in the open, I have to pass. This doesn't mean I have an issue with some, but if I'm seeing this all the time, and that's all I'm seeing from you, I will soft block.

DISCUSSIONS : I will be honest while I need discussions to write they can intimidate me, sometimes I question my creativity. Interactions ooc give me anxiety, quite a double edge sword. So if we are unable to plot I do love memes, so please send one if any catches your eye!

INTOLERANCES : Roleplay is my escape from reality, SO PETTINESS, DRAMA OR HATE. WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. I really don't want to see it.. I won't engage in any CALLOUT POSTS, and honestly I don't care for them, If you tend to post a lot of that INSTEAD OF WRITING, I will likely soft block ,it's nothing personal. I just want to enjoy my time and not be BOMBARDED with negativity. This should be a SAFE PLACE FOR ALL, meaning if I'm uncomfortable with the DRAMA you post, it's my choice to REMOVE YOU so I don't have to feel anxiety over your CONTENT.